


Riftlash: Book One

by A_E_Redacted



Series: Riftlash [1]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Adventure, Amnesia, Far Future, Gen, Investigations, Mystery, Original Character Death(s), Paranormal Investigators, Spontaneous Combustion, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:28:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 60,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24743095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_E_Redacted/pseuds/A_E_Redacted
Summary: Brx fdq’w hashfw wr holplqdwh dq doo-srzhuixo nhb sodbhu zlwk qr odvwlqj udplilfdwlrqv, ru wr eh ohiw zlwk dqbwklqj ohvv wkdq Dqdufkb.Four years after the events of Weirdmageddon, Dipper and Mabel Pines have fallen into a relatively mundane highschool existence in Piedmont. They have had no recent contact with Stan and Ford, no paranormal happenings to investigate. Things begin to change, however, with a visit to an area haunted house, and the unexpected appearance of two time agents who bring some rather dismal news from the future.As Dipper and Mabel are drawn into a web of espionage and bizarre happenings in both present and future Piedmont, the residents of the town of Gravity Falls itself are grappling with new mysteries and memories that don’t match. A series of spontaneous combustions around the world begin to draw attention and, as investigations seem to reveal more questions than answers, it may just be that all of these seemingly-unrelated events have a lot more in common than anyone thought...[***On hiatus but not abandoned. Posting will resume Spring of 2021***]
Series: Riftlash [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1789270
Comments: 2
Kudos: 24





	1. THE GLITCH HOUSE

**Author's Note:**

> AUTHOR'S NOTE:
> 
> A little over four years ago and shortly after watching the finale of 'Gravity Falls', I, like a lot of people, found myself thinking a lot about what might happen after the series was over. Somewhere along the lines, I realized that I was drafting up a sequel in my head and that I might just have to start writing it down.
> 
> A few months of notes, scribblings, new fandom revelations from 'Journal 3' and other tie-in works, the phenomenon that was the Cipher Hunt, writing starts and re-starts later, I finally began writing in earnest on a project I would title 'Riftlash'.
> 
> I had to put the project on hold for numerous reasons, and I had some serious issues with writers block along the way. But this year, the drive to write it returned and lockdown and reduced work hours gave me the opportunity that I needed to dive back in and make significant progress to the point where I feel confident that Book One will absolutely be completed!
> 
> And so, here we are, eight years after ‘Tourist Trapped’ first aired on Disney. It seems like the appropriate time to launch 'Riftlash'.
> 
> This is a LONG, slow-burn mystery expanding on the world of 'Gravity Falls' from both the series and tie-in books. There are many new characters, new locations and new situations - as well as development of side characters from the series. 
> 
> But, if you are looking for a long follow-up adventure aimed at a slightly-older target audience, exploring the characters we all know and love, with their flaws and strengths intact, then you might just enjoy 'Riftlash'.
> 
> Welcome aboard!
> 
> (Also, I have come to realize that this first chapter is such a direct parody of a certain other show that it *almost* counts as a crossover).

"Jake?"  
  


There was a loud rapping from the direction of the hotel room door.

  
From beneath the covers, a small patch of spiky black hair emerged.

  
The rapping continued. Whoever was at the door showed no sign of letting up.

  
"Jake, are you even alive in there?"

  
The hair's owner recognized the voice as belonging to his assistant. He muttered unintelligibly but it was enough to silence the banging on the door.

  
"Jake?" the muffled voice repeated.

  
Jake pushed the covers back, revealing a bare chest and boxer shorts.

  
"Yeah. I'm up, Ivy," he said. "Gimmie...hang on a sec."

  
He stumbled to the door, dislodged the chain locking it shut and pulled it open.

  
Standing in the hallway was a determined-looking woman, probably in her mid-sixties, dressed in professional attire, which clashed horribly with her dyed black hair, multiple piercings and excessive dark eye makeup. 

  
She was holding a to-go mug of coffee in each hand, one of which was extended towards the door.

  
"Jake, for the love of god put some clothes on. We're supposed to be filming in twenty minutes."  
  


"Twenty minutes, huh?" Jake said, taking the offered coffee and making no move to do anything else whatsoever.   
  


Ivy rolled her eyes. "'S'what I just said."  
  


"Is Dave up yet?" Jake asked.  
  


"Yeah. I bribed him before you."  
  


Jake continued to stand in the doorway like a coffee-loving zombie.   
  


Ivy snapped her fingers in front of his face. "Oi! Jake! Pants! Shirt! Now!"  
  


"Yes, captain," Jake said sarcastically and shut the door in her face.  
  


" _Twenty minutes_!" she shouted, her voice muffled from the other side.  
  


"I know, I know," Jake muttered.  
  


In the hallway, Ivy shrugged in a way that one often did when dealing with two grown men who insisted on behaving like sleepy teenagers who didn't want to go to school.  
  


"I have donuts in the lobby for people who want donuts!" she said loudly.  
  


From Jake's room and from the room across the hall, there were faint scrabbling noises as if the occupants had suddenly become more motivated to get ready to present themselves to the general public.  
  


"Aaand they don't pay me nearly enough for this," Ivy said under her breath as she walked to the elevators, taking a long sip of her own coffee as she went.  
  


She said this quite often and found herself wondering why she put up with her job. Technically she’d been hired by Jake and Dave to be their producer and (as they called it) “techie”. Personally, she was convinced that they'd hired her to be their mother. She might even be old enough to be their grandmother, but that was a possibility she refused to entertain.  
  


Ivy had booked this particular hotel solely because she had learned there were a large variety of donuts served for breakfast and, when one worked as Jake and Dave's mom, this was advantageous.  
  


When the _ding_ signaling the arrival of the elevator rang through the lobby a short while later, Ivy looked up to see a (thankfully) fully clothed Jake Crescent and Dave Gomez heading her way.  
  


Dave, like Jake, was dressed in a black and grey outfit with their logo on the front. However, Jake was also wearing a jacket with a large silver depiction of a human skull emblazoned across it.  
  


"It was a _weird_ dream," Jake was saying while gesturing emphatically at Dave. "Like, it was some bar in Nebraska or somewhere and this chick came in laughing and crying and just exploded into flames."  
  


"That's creepy, dude," Dave said, rubbing his mustache.   
  


"It was so _vivid_ ," Jake insisted. "She just went up in flames like _wooosh!_ "  
  


“Like _wooosh?”_ Dave asked.   
  


"Yeah," Jake confirmed. "Like wooosh."  
  


"You think it really happened? Or will happen?"  
  


"I dunno', man. It was just so...so..." Jake screwed up his face as if squeezing his brain to wring out the perfect word. " _Real_."  
  


"Hey!" Dave cried, his face lighting up. "Look! Donuts!"  
  


"Glad you could join me," Ivy said as the two men descended upon the table where she sat. They sat down, unstrapped cameras from their belts and began filming the donuts.   
  


"Oh my _gawwwwd_ ," Dave said. "It's jelly glaze. Jelly glaze!"  
  


He refocused his camera on Jake, who was chowing down on a bear claw.  
  


Ivy sat stone-faced, drinking her coffee and revisiting her life choices.   
  


"So...I was looking at our ratings this morning," she said. "They're really good. The Chieftains Museum episode outperformed all expectations. And NorPac16 just released a new YouTube video discussing our Montana State Prison episode and it's had over a hundred thousand hits already and it's sparked a major upswing in downloads of the eppy."  
  


Her companions didn't seem to even hear her.  
  


"Ivy, can I ask you a favor?" Jake said.  
  


"Mmm, what?"  
  


"Can you do some research into spontaneous combustions in Nebraska? Specifically female individuals in bars? It might not be Nebraska either. Just somewhere kinda’ flat and open like that."  
  


"Yeah," Ivy said quickly. "I can do that."  
  


"Maybe it's this hotel!" Dave interjected. "Maybe people get weird prophetic dreams!"  
  


"Dude!" Jake said. "You think?"  
  


"Oh my god," Dave said, jaw dropping.  
  


"Or maybe you just had a weird dream like a normal person," Ivy said with slight annoyance.  
  


"Me? Doubtful."  
  


Ivy huffed, unsure if Jake was referring to the likely-insulting suggestion that he might be in any way a "normal person," or to the possibility that his dream was just the result of his own dramatic imagination.  
  


"When I reserved this hotel, I researched it fully enough to know beyond a shadow of a doubt that it does not now, nor has it _ever_ had any connections to anything paranormal."  
  


Dave shrugged. "Fair enough."  
  


"We already had this discussion when you bought those cursed 8-balls on eBay," Ivy sighed. "I think you just need to stop drinking so much caffeine in the evenings."  
  


Jake looked like a balloon that had been deflated and then stepped on by an elephant.   
  


"Come on!" Ivy clapped her hands. "It's time for _you guys_ ," she pointed at Jake and Dave with both hands. "to do some filming. I've lined up the interviews, so I want to get the preliminary crap out of the way stat."  
  


The squashed balloon instantly resurrected itself and stood, brushing the chair aside.  
  


" _Alright let's do this!_ Dave?"  
  


"With you all the way, bro!" Dave hopped up to fist-bump his friend.  
  


"Let us _goooo!_ " Jake cried, striding towards the doors.  
  


Dave followed gleefully with a large video camera.  
  


"I'll just...clean up your places," Ivy said, eyeing the two abandoned plates with malicious intent. "And collect all your equipment and surveillance cameras and bring them to you."

***

Outside, Jake focused the camera on Jake's face.  
  


"Rolling."  
  


"We're standing in front of this Piedmont, California inn, a destination known for a good night's sleep and fantastic donuts. Nothing paranormal has ever been reported here...but across the street? It's a whole different story."  
  


Dave panned the camera around as Jake turned to look at an ominous and slightly-dilapidated building on the far side of the road. It was three stories tall with most of the windows boarded shut and a tall, chain-link fence surrounding it, covered in large yellow signs that just read 'KEEP OUT' in angry, black letters.  
  


For a moment, Jake and Dave just stared at the building that seemed to loom above as if it were watching them.  
  


"Whoah," Dave said.  
  


" _This_ ," Jake continued, as he backed across the road while facing the camera and blocking traffic, causing motorists to collide with each other. "Is the Glitch House."  
  


Dave followed, ignoring the multi-car pileup as Jake continued.  
  


"Four years ago, this seemingly-innocent building was purchased by new owners who began to report bizarre happenings and has since become the location of _chilling_ demonic encounters and numerous paranormal attacks. Seven contractors have quit unexpectedly and renovators refuse to set foot inside.   
  


"The house _leeches_ a visceral, dark energy out of its history-steeped pores. So _today_ , the _Ghost Harassers_ crew is going to be among the first to investigate this. Very. Haunted. Location."  
  


Jake emphasized each word by pounding a fist into his palm.

***

From the hotel, Ivy collected equipment to the sound of squealing tires on the road outside. She couldn't really see the thirty-car pileup from the hotel room, but she could imagine, having grown to expect this sort of thing while working for the Harassers. It would be worth it, though, she reminded herself, focusing on her ultimate goal, which was producing a project of her own.  
  


For the time being, however, she was starting to become concerned for Jake and Dave. As obnoxious as she found them, they _were_ sort of her friends and she harbored no ill will towards them. Without supervision, she feared they would happily fall into some abandoned wellhole, brandishing infrared cameras, shouting for spirits to manifest.

***

As it was, Jake was currently interviewing the Glitch House's owner, who was releasing the padlock on the chain link gate.  
  


"Is it true?" Jake was inquiring loudly. "That when you bought this house four years ago, there had been no reports of paranormal activity?"  
  


"That's right," said the owner, a middle-aged man who looked like he would be more at home on a golf course than speaking to Jake Crescent.  
  


"But is it also true," Jake continued. "That the activity began as soon as you started to renovate?"  
  


"That's right," the owner repeated. "The guys we brought in to work on the house started talking about feeling really disoriented, some reported hearing voices..."  
  


"They heard disembodied voices?" Jake asked excitedly.  
  


"That's right. I didn't think too much of it...lot of those guys're just real' superstitious. It's a big empty house. Easy to let your mind play tricks on you."  
  


"So you were a skeptic?"  
  


"I was, yes."  
  


They walked up the unkempt steps leading to a heavy, wooden front door.  
  


"But you're not anymore?" Jake pressed.  
  


"After what I experienced?" The owner laughed nervously as he unlocked the door. "I'm a full believer now. This place is the real deal."  
  


He opened the door and stepped inside.  
  


"Welcome, boys."  
  


Jake followed but, before he did, he turned and gave Dave a double thumbs-up, a massive grin plastered across his face.  
  


"Oh dude," Dave laughed, just as giddy.   
  


"Whoah!" Jake gasped as he stepped through the door, taking in the familiar musty smell of abandoned building. "It's like the energy in here..."  
  


"It's oppressive," Dave said, following.  
  


"Yeah, like it's pressing down on us. It doesn't want us here."  
  


"Yeah, a lot of people I bring in here," the owner began. "They don't like it. They say the house doesn't feel welcoming."  
  


"That's crazy!" Dave said. "It's a completely different feel from outside. Walking through the door is like hitting a wall of energy."  
  


"In here's the kitchen," the owner gestured for the two men to follow him and stop stating and restating the same thing. "This is where I had my first real encounter."  
  


"Right here?" Jake asked.  
  


"Yes. I walked in the day after our third contractor quit and I smelled coffee. And..." he paused for effect. "We don't have any coffee makers in here. And that's when I heard footsteps. They started right there and went across to there. And you know what? The coffee smell went with them."  
  


"And what did you do?"  
  


"Well, I followed them, of course."  
  


Jake grinned at Dave and the camera. "I like this guy!"  
  


The three walked into the living room.  
  


"I was trying to find a logical explanation," the owner went on. "And then I see this big gray-black figure just _standing_ by the couch! And it was kind-of see-through but definitely there. jumped and vanished into thin air with this...this _shreak_."  
  


"Whoah, dude," Dave said from behind the camera. "That's crazy."  
  


"I know. It just shook me. I mean, that was a life-changing moment. You know? I don't even like being _in_ here anymore."  
  


"I'm going to ask you a question now," Jake said in a tone that indicated extreme gravity. "Do you think your contractors stirred up something when they started the renovations?"  
  


"I think it's a definite possibility. 'Cause after I saw that...spirit? Figure? Whatever it was? I did some research. And the _foundations_ of this building were actually originally built into the earth! And of course the _earth_ is where graveyards live."  
  


"Whoah, wait," Jake said. "Stop right there! Are you telling me that this building is located on the same earth as _burial sites_?"  
  


"That's my theory, yes."  
  


By now Jake was vibrating like he had just consumed an entire semi-truckload of energy drinks.   
  


"Dude, that changes everything," Dave said.  
  


"Yeah, if you do something on sacred burial ground, that's a recipe for pissed-off spirits."  
  


"Well then I have some other bad news for you, the owner said.  
  


Jake and Dave exchanged a look like their wildest dreams had just come true all at once _and_ they'd won the lottery.  
  


"Since we went public with all of this, we've been having trouble with people breaking in. And...on a couple of occasions they've left evidence of...rituals."  
  


Jake's eyes bugged. "Like Satanic rituals?"  
  


The owner shrugged. "I dunno what'cha'd call it but there've been chalk circles on the floor, candles, paint, occult-looking symbols."  
  


"Craig, that's demonic," Jake said incredulously. "You should've told us this."  
  


"I just did."  
  


"Okay, hold on." Jake began to count off thoughts on his fingers. "We've got disembodied voices, apparitions, a disturbed graveyard, spirits that aren't at rest and we've got demonic rituals that have opened up the spiritual doors to who _knows_ what."  
  


"No wonder they say this place is active," Dave said.  
  


Jake laughed. "I guess this means we've got to take precautions during our investigation tonight. I mean, this is what we do, what we're passionate about. But experience has shown that it doesn't pay well to not be cautious."  
  


"That's the truth," Dave agreed. "I'm kind of thinking we should bring in a priest or someone to bless us before our investigation."  
  


"Hey, dude. Do we still have those blessed ju-ju fish?" Jake asked.  
  


"Maybe. Ivy would know. Where is she, anyway?"

***

Ivy was, at that very moment, making her way through the automatic sliding doors of the hotel, carrying two large bags of equipment, three cameras and several tripods.  
  


The pileup in the street was being taken care of and, judging from the loud exclamations ringing from the broken windows of the house across the street, the interviews were going well. That was good. The Glitch House episode _needed_ to be intense. The show's ratings depended on it.  
  


Ivy stepped out onto the sidewalk and frowned as she heard the unmistakable sound of quick, disembodied footsteps.  
  


No, not disembodied. Ivy just had a large camera bag blocking her view in the direction of the footsteps' owner, who was rapidly approaching by the sound of things and didn't show any signs of stopping.  
  


"Hey!" she shouted, but it was too late.  
  


A lanky, somewhat acne-ridden teenage boy who, oddly enough, seemed to be carrying as much stuff as Ivy, had collided with her sending them both toppling to the ground.  
  


"Ow! Omigosh!" the teenager yelped. "Oh gosh, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."  
  


"Watch where you're going," Ivy said irritably, hurriedly gathering her fallen equipment and praying to the gods of the Used To Be About History Channel that none of it was seriously damaged or broken.   
  


"I'm..." the boy began, fixing his glasses, which had been knocked askew. "Oh my gosh! You're Ivy Grabt!"  
  


Ivy turned to actually look at her accidental assailant. He seemed to be in his older teens, had a mop of unruly brown hair and was wearing a ratty t-shirt and a tan jacket that looked about three sizes too big for him.  
  


"Uh, yeah," Ivy said, her suspicions growing as she noticed that the fallen items the boy was gathering together looked a lot like amateur ghost hunting equipment.  
  


His face broke into a wide smile. "The Ivy Grabt!?! Of _Ghost Harassers_?!? This is amazing! I was hoping I'd get to meet you guys! My name's Dipper! Dipper Pi..."  
  


"Whoah," Ivy said. "Awesome to meet a fan but we're _working_ right now."  
  


"But that's perfect!" Dipper said, climbing to his feet and adjusting his glasses. "I've been hunting the supernatural since I was twelve!"  
  


Ivy laughed and began to cross the street. "And that was what? Three weeks ago?"  
  


"Four years," Dipper retorted. "It was four years. And my great uncle was..."  
  


"Look, I'm sure this is all fascinating, but now's not the time. Perhaps you could email it to us through the website."  
  


"I've sent you guys a hundred letters. All I ever got back was a signed picture of Jake Crescent. I mean, not that that's not _cool_ and all..."  
  


Ivy gritted her teeth as her newfound shadow bounced enthusiastically across the street alongside her.  
  


"I've built some modified equipment in my spare time that I'd like you to take a look at. I've tried to explain it in my emails, but I guess you never got them. That's why I wanted to meet you all in person. When I heard you were investigating the Glitch House, I got here as quickly as I could."  
  


"Great," Ivy said as they approached the doorway of the Glitch House where Jake and Dave seemed to be having a very somber discussion while their cameras rolled candidly from the steps.  
  


"There's something else," Jake was saying quietly. "And Dave, I already told you about this earlier, off-camera, but I want to go on record here. Last night I had this very vivid dream of a woman who spontaneously combusted in a bar in North Dakota or Idaho or somewhere."  
  


"Oh my _goddd_ ," Ivy growled under her breath. " _Really_?"  
  


"That's super weird, dude," Dave said.  
  


"It was like I _saw_ her," said Jake. "I _watched_ it happen, Dave. And I have to wonder if, on the eve of our investigation of the Glitch House, it signals something dark to come."  
  


Ivy cleared her throat loudly.  
  


"AAAAUUUGGGGHHHHH!" Dave screamed, while Jake flailed wildly and accidentally kicked one of the cameras down the stairs.  
  


"Ivy, _Jesus Christ_."  
  


"Yeah, not quite," Ivy said dryly.  
  


Dave slid down the wall and sat, panting and staring blankly ahead.  
  


" _Sorry_ ," Ivy said. "I...I didn't..." she found herself breaking into a laugh in spite of her annoyance. It was contagious and soon both Jake and Dipper were cracking up too.  
  


"Oh man," Dave said. "Oh man. My heart is going so fast right now."  
  


“I brought all your crap," Ivy said, gently setting down the bags and tripods at the base of the steps and picking up Dave's camera to inspect for damage.   
  


The two Harassers hurried down to help her unpack.  
  


"Wow," Dipper said. "Jake Crescent! Dave Gomez! I can't believe I'm actually meeting you!"  
  


"Uh..." Dave began.  
  


"I've got some modified gear you can use!" Dipper continued. "Plus," he pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket. "Blueprints of the Glitch House with highlights around the most active areas! I also have..."  
  


"Ivy," Jake said. "Who the fuck is this guy?"  
  


"Some groupie," Ivy sighed. "Said his name was Scoop or something."  
  


" _What_? No! It's Dipper! And I'm not a groupie! I'm a fellow investigator! I've seen things that would blow your mind!"  
  


"Sure, sure," Jake said. "But I'll bet you've never experienced a partial possession."  
  


"As a matter of fact...You know, not important. The point is, you need me on this investigation. I know the house and something's up there that's different from normal hauntings. So I need you too, to help me get to the bottom of this."  
  


"Wait," said Ivy. "You've been in the House?"  
  


"Well, yes. Yes I have. It's been a couple of years, but I've been inside."  
  


"But," Jake looked at the chain link fence. "It's barricaded."  
  


"I might've broken," Dipper began. "A few rules."  
  


Jake suddenly grinned. "I think I like this guy."  
  


"I have my notes here," Dipper pulled a spiral-bound notebook from his jacket.  
  


"We gotta' interview this kid," Dave said, snatching his camera from Ivy.   
  


"Whoah," Dipper took a step back from the lens that was shoved roughly in his face.  
  


"Not until he signs a release form," Ivy interjected. "Hang on, I'm sure I've got one in here."  
  


She began rifling through one of the tote bags.  
  


"Whoah, dude!" Dave exclaimed.  
  


"What?" Jake asked.  
  


"My camera just malfunctioned."  
  


"Are you serious?"  
  


"Yeah. It just _shut off_."  
  


"You kicked it down the stairs," Dipper pointed out, but was ignored.  
  


"The battery was brand new! I _just_ put it on when we started filming!"  
  


"Holy crap, it's this Dipper guy! They don't want us to talk to him for some reason!"  
  


Ivy handed Dipper a sheet of paper and gave him a smile. "It's a release waiver. Just giving us permission to film you and include you in our production."  
  


Dipper adjusted his glasses and began scrutinizing the text with an intensity one normally reserved for video game scenarios involving death traps.  
  


"It just says you agree to letting us film you for the show," Ivy reiterated impatiently.   
  


"Dude, let him read it," Jake said.  
  


"Sorry," said Dipper. "Reading the fine print is just a thing with me."  
  


"Smart," Dave said, and Jake nodded.  
  


It took Dipper a few minutes to read through the waiver and think about it's meaning from multiple different angles but, in the end, he saw nothing suspicious.   
  


"See?" Ivy said. "It's just a legality. You give the producer - that's me - permission to include footage and interviews of you in my production."  
  


Hoping he hadn't missed anything important, Dipper pulled out a pen and held his breath as he signed his name at the bottom of the page.  
  


There was no clap of thunder, no maniacal laughter that some part of Dipper's subconscious distantly braced for, no sign whatsoever that he'd made a huge mistake.  
  


He breathed a sigh of relief as Ivy merely thanked him and folded the waver in half, pocketing it in her own jacket.  
  


"Okay, since some sort of odd energy has drained Dave's camera, we'll use mine," Jake said.   
  


"Or mine," Ivy said.  
  


"Right," said Jake. "Dipper, you cool if we interview you now?"  
  


"Let's do it!" said Dipper, hoping his voice didn't sound as nervous as he felt. He'd faced down ghosts and zombies and a friggin' eldritch god. Being interviewed by the excitable Used To Be About History Channel ghost hunters should not be his intimidating.  
  


If Jake picked up on what Dipper was feeling, he didn't let on. He just waited, arms crossed, while Ivy shouldered her own camera equipment.  
  


"Rolling," she said at last.  
  


"Right!" said Jake. "So we're here at the Glitch House with Dipper, who is an amateur ghost hunter himself and has had experiences in this location. Is that right?"  
  


"It is," Dipper said, trying to focus on Jake and not Ivy and the camera off to the side. Ivy was giving him a thumbs-up, so he continued. "It was about two years ago. I'd wanted to investigate the Glitch House from the very first rumors but the place? As you can see, it's tough to get into. I was preeettty hesitant to try at first."  
  


"What finally convinced you?" Jake asked.  
  


"My sister."  
  


Everybody laughed and Dipper felt himself relax, becoming a bit more comfortable with his company and with the situation.   
  


"My sister and one of her friends and I...uh, we..."  
  


"Snuck in?" Dave supplied.  
  


"Yeah," Dipper admitted. "That."  
  


More laughter.  
  


"My Great Uncle Ford, he, uh, cataloged ghosts into different categories..."  
  


"It runs in the family, huh?" Jake asked.  
  


"Definitely. But whatever's in the Glitch House? Doesn't match anything he cataloged. It doesn't seem to _want_ anything. And it can mimic voices. There's this kid I used to know, Gideon? He lives in Oregon and I haven't seen him since I turned thirteen. He definitely wasn't here but I _heard his voice in the house_. Clear as I'm talking to you right now."  
  


"That's creepy," Ivy said.   
  


"But not unheard-of," Dave added. "We've encountered it before."  
  


"Any idea why it picked this Gideon guy?" Jake asked.  
  


"That's the thing - he and I weren't even really on good terms. I mean, we'd been on worse terms but...it didn't make any sense."  
  


"Did you experience other activities as well?"  
  


"Oh yeah, my sister and I both heard voices calling our names. And the other girl, she said something walked right _through_ her. And we all had this really weird dizzy feeling, especially in the living room."  
  


"See, it's funny you say that," said Jake. "Because we've been discussing whether this house contains some sort of vortex to a spirit world."  
  


"That's what my uncle thought!"  
  


"He's been here too?"  
  


"No, I just told him about what we experienced. I wanted his advice."  
  


"And what did he say?"  
  


"He said not to go back."  
  


"Um..." Dave began.  
  


"Without experienced professional backup," Dipper amended quickly.  
  


Dave and Jake traded looks and then glanced at Ivy, who nodded her approval. She'd worked with the guys long enough to know what they were thinking.  
  


"In that case," Jake said to Dipper, who was frowning slightly at the exchange. "What would you say to joining us on our investigation tonight?"  
  


Dipper's face lit up. " _Really_?" he very nearly squeaked.  
  


Jake himself broke into a boyish grin as he turned to Ivy's camera. "Dude, I _love_ this kid's enthusiasm."  
  


"Right?" laughed Dave.  
  


"Gotta' admit, it's kinda' catchy," said Ivy. "Don't know about you guys but color me hyped."

***

The afternoon passed quickly but enjoyably and the four had a picnic of subs that Ivy bought from a fast food restaurant down the street.   
  


Jake, it turned out, always carried a deck of cards with him ("In case I ever need to entice a gambling-addicted spirit") so they engaged in a few friendly games of cards. Dipper was delighted to teach them one called Geo-Crash, that he had learned from Ford. Of course, he purposely neglected to tell them that Ford had learned this game in a far-off dimension on the other side of space and time. That might be a bit much, even for the Harassers.   
  


Dipper had learned the hard way that people would believe outrageously untrue things with every fiber of their mortal being but, when confronted with something fantastical _and_ true, they would usually dismiss and reject it. Oftentimes they would ridicule anyone who tried to explain otherwise.   
  


Jake, Dave and Ivy were some of the few people Dipper had met in the past four years who were at all open to the idea of the supernatural. The very last thing he wanted to do was jeopardize that by bringing up the details of his own strange history any more than necessary.  
  
At least not yet.  
  


Dipper couldn't deny that a part of him was hoping this current team-up with the Harassers would lead to something bigger in the near future.  
  


Speaking of which…  
  


His phone buzzed obnoxiously and he momentarily set his cards aside to look at the message.  
  


It was from Mabel and read simply: _'WCT coming to school nxt wk or so to talk scholarship_.'  
  


Dipper felt a _zing_ of excitement shoot through him!  
  


WCT? That had to mean West Coast Tech, the school he'd tried so hard to qualify for, the school Ford had told him was the best around.  
  


The thought was quickly followed by a question. If West Coast Tech was indeed interested in talking to him, how did _Mabel_ know this? Had she been reading his mail again?  
  


Dipper's finger hovered over his phone's keypad as he formulated a few responses to Mabel's message. However, he couldn't think of any really good ones, so he just hit _cancel_ and put the phone away instead.  
  


"Hey Dipshit," Ivy said, causing Jake and Dave to roar with laughter. "Get off your damn phone and on _the cards_! It's your turn."  
  


"Oh yeah, guys. Really original," Dipper said sarcastically. "Nobody's _ever_ called me that before."  
  


He went back to the game but found himself losing, as his mind was suddenly too busy with other thoughts.  
  


West Coast Tech was _the dream_ but if he got a job on _Ghost Harassers_ , then he would be _living_ the dream.  
  


Either option seemed immensely appealing but it occurred to him that he was having more fun with the three people in front of him than he'd had in months, maybe even years.  
  


Which, to be honest, was rather sad.  
  


The sky to the West was covered by clouds but, as the sun set behind them, thin streams of orange and gold leaked through and cast a colorful pattern along the horizon.  
  


Jake stood up as the owner of the Glitch House returned with a set of keys to lock them in.  
  


Ivy rolled on her camera as he began a monologue.  
  


"The sun is setting in the West, bits of red pouring out among the ominous clouds like blood from an infected wound. And, like my dream from last night, I have to wonder if this is an auspicious sign for our investigation here tonight."  
  


The owner gave Jake a distressed look, like he couldn't believe any one person was capable of that much purple prose in everyday speech, and then gave an even more distressed look at the rest of the crew, as if he couldn't believe none of them were inclined to comment on it.  
  


"Craig Glitch is here to lock us in," Jake continued. "What will we discover during our night-time investigation of the Glitch House? It's time to find out."  
  


"Let's do this," said Dave.  
  


They filed into the house, fistbumping the owner, who had just decided to roll with things by this point.  
  


"I'll just...lock the door behind you," he said.  
  


"Yeah, bro, you do that," Jake said. "You do that. We want to be so locked in here that the only way out is through _your key_."  
  


"Yeah, that doesn't actually make any sense, Jake," Dipper said.  
  


The men began dumping their equipment all over the floor and Ivy hurried from room to room, putting infrared video cameras on tripods and setting them to roll continuously.  
  


"The atmosphere in here is just so _different_ than outside," Dave said for the thirtieth time.  
  


"Well, there are heavy red curtains and boards across most of the windows," Dipper pointed out. "Good thing I'm not claustrophobic."  
  


He produced a camera out of his own equipment bag, but this one had various metal antenni and other appendages.  
  


"It has a word database for those Category One ghosts to choose from," Dipper explained. "And it measures temperature, ectoplasm, ghost anger - that's a thing, barometric pressure, electromagnetic energy _and_ seismic activity. And all the readings come back here."   
  


He tapped a separate little handheld box with a screen and dials.  
  


"And, best of all?" Dipper pressed a button. "It flies."  
  


"Whoah," Jake said.  
  


"I call it the D.P. Ghost Detector," Dipper said proudly as the device whirred to life and rose into the air, powered by a miniature propeller. "This way we can be completely certain that the readings are not being influenced by a living person holding the equipment."  
  


"Ohhhhhh," Jake, Dave and Ivy all said, following the movement of the D.P. Ghost Detector as it glided silently just above their heads.  
  


While Dipper guided the drone's flight around the house, Jake armed himself with a digital recorder, which he held out in front of him.  
  


"HELLO!" Jake shouted abruptly into the empty house, causing Dipper to jump and the Detector to bounce off the top of a grandfather clock, which sent a harmonious vibration through the dark rooms.  
  


"Spirits of the Glitch House!" Jake continued loudly. "I'm Jake Crescent and these are my friends Dave, Ivy and Dipper. We're here to communicate with you! We mean you no harm unless you want to harm _us_ ! If you're doing harm to people, then we're here to do harm to _you_!"  
  


_'CLOCK'  
  
_

The word database on the D.P. Ghost Detector's remote squawked to electronic life.  
  


"Oh man!" Dipper said, looking down at the word glowing on the little screen in his hands.  
  


"AAAAAAAGGGHHH!" Jake screamed.  
  


"What the...?" Ivy yelped.  
  


"OH MY GOD IT SAID CLOCK!" Dave bellowed in a voice that could probably be heard in Mongolia. "IT SAID CLOCK, BRO!"  
  


"OH WOW, DUDE!" Jake was waving his arms like a windmill and practically hopping up and down. "DID YOU JUST SEE? THAT THING _JUST_ HIT THE CLOCK!"  
  


"AND NOW IT SAYS CLOCK!"  
  


"At least we hope it said 'clock'," Ivy said with a wink that couldn't actually be seen in the dark.  
  


"IT KNOWS WE'RE HERE!" Dipper said, joining in on the frenzy of excitement while the supposed ghosts, if they were there, presumably were watching the proceedings with exasperation.  
  


"The Detector hit the clock!" Jake said, slapping his face in a manner that suggested he had completely lost his mind. "And then this energy comes through and says 'clock'! That's intelligent! It's not just residual energy! Only intelligent spirits can say the word 'clock'!"  
  


"Oh my god," Ivy said.  
  


"Bro," said Dave.  
  


"Okay, okay, quiet!" Dipper said, starting to worry that the exclamations were only going to escalate.  
  


The investigators abruptly ceased spinning in erratic circles.  
  


"Show yourself!" Dipper commanded. "Who are you? What do you want?"  
  


"Do you want US?" Jake added, pounding his chest.  
  


"Give us a sign of your presence," Ivy said.  
  


"Yeah!" said Dave. "Knock that clock over if you love it so much!"  
  


"No, don't knock it over!" Dipper yelped, scrambling back. "I'm _standing_ under it!"  
  


But the offending clock merely stood tall and silent in the hallway, making not a move to fall over.  
  


"Knock down the clock!" Dave repeated, punching the air for emphasis. "Knock down the clock!"  
  


"Knock down the clock!" Ivy joined in.  
  


Within moments, all four people were punching the air in unison and chanting.  
  


"KNOCK DOWN THE CLOCK! KNOCK DOWN THE CLOCK! KNOCK DOWN THE CLOCK!"  
  


Dipper chuckled as a thought, which sounded remarkably like Mabel, popped into his head and he was compelled to voice.  
  


"Hey guys? If that clock actually _did_ fall over, would that technically be...time travel?"  
  


"OH MY GOD!" Dave roared and Jake actually smashed his head through a wall while Ivy cackled hysterically.  
  


" _That was so bad_!" Jake wailed.  
  


"Well I guess you could say," Ivy said with a grin. "We would bear witness to...the _fall_ of time."  
  


"Ohhhhhhhhh!" Jake now sounded legitimately wounded and Dave booed as Ivy dissolved into a fit of giggles.  
  


Dipper stood to the side, a grin plastered across his face, enjoying himself more than he had in a long, long time. With the laughter and bickering of his three new companions filling the air, he could almost, _almost_ imagine he was back with his friends in Oregon four Summers ago.  
  


Almost.  
  


"Okay, okay," Jake said at last. "Enough puns. We're here to investigate."  
  


"Actually Category Nine ghosts are _known_ for their puns," Dipper said. "Maybe we're being influenced by one."  
  


He checked the readings on the Detector, which all seemed to be stable and within normal limits.  
  


"Maybe we should do a Noise Box session," Ivy suggested.  
  


"Yeah," Dave said. "Except you and Dipper probably caused all the ghosts to die _again_ with all your shit."  
  


"Heh," Ivy snickered.  
  


"We apologize to the entities of this house," Jake began. "For offending you with our terrible humor."  
  


"Guys!" Dipper hissed. "Shhhhh!"  
  


" _Shhhhh_! is my line!" Jake protested, but Ivy held up a hand to cut him off.  
  


Dipper was standing completely frozen, gaze fixed on the still-upright grandfather clock.  
  


"What?" Jake whispered.  
  


"The clock," said Dipper.  
  


"What about it?"  
  


"It needs to be wound. All the weights are at the ends of their chains."  
  


Ivy's eyes grew wide with realization but the two men on either side of her seemed lost.  
  


"I don't get it," Dave said.  
  


"These clocks have to be wound in order to work," Dipper explained.   
  


"So?"  
  


" _Sooo_...why is it ticking?"  
  


Jake went pale and Dave's jaw dropped.  
  


"Holy shit."  
  


"Maybe _that's_ what it was trying to tell us!" Dave gasped. "It said 'clock' and the clock is running when it _can't_ be running."  
  


Ivy sniffed suddenly. "You smell that?"  
  


The hair on the back of Dipper's neck was standing up. Oh, he'd _missed_ this!  
  


He sniffed the air and, sure enough, detected a very familiar scent.  
  


Jake's brow furrowed. "It smells like...popcorn?"  
  


"Yeah, dude," Dave agreed. "Like hot buttered popcorn."  
  


" _Dipper_?"  
  


Dipper jumped in horror. The voice was faint and tinny, as if from a badly-tuned radio underwater but it was still a _distinct_ voice belonging to…

"WENDY?!"  
  


It sounded as if it had come from the living room, so Dipper charged in, the D.P. Ghost Detector hovering along behind him.  
  


Upon entering the room, he became aware of just how dark it was and that he had apparently dropped his flashlight.  
  


He pushed his glasses up his nose and looked around wildly.  
  


"Wendy? _Wendy_ _?_ "  
  


'It can mimic voices', Dipper thought.  
  


Just like before, when he had been certain he'd heard Gideon speak, it was now using Wendy's voice.  
  


"Who are you _really_?" he whispered. "What do you want with me?"  
  


He turned slowly on the spot, eyes straining to see in the gloom. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a book on the coffee table and let out a shout of surprise. He stepped back, promptly tripped over an ottoman and fell flat on his back with a crash.  
  


"AAAAGGGH! GUYS! GET IN HERE!"  
  


There was the sound of three pairs of feet and suddenly Jake was standing over him with a bright light in his face.  
  


"Dipper! Dipper! You fell down, bro!"  
  


Dipper just pointed wildly at the coffee table. "That book! What's it doing there?"  
  


Jake shone his light at the table.  
  


"Dipper, there's no book there. Did you hit your head?"  
  


"I..." Dipper sat up, following the beam of Jake's flashlight. It illuminated all the shadows and, sure enough, no book.  
  


"I swear I saw...My mind must be playing tricks on me. I'm just getting creeped out, I guess."  
  


"I'll say so," Dave said. "If a damn _book_ sends you into a panic."  
  


"Yep, that's me," Dipper muttered under his breath, standing up and brushing himself off. "Dipper Pines: Panicking over books since four Summers ago."  
  


But the Harassers were no longer listening, they were hurrying upstairs, uttering loud vociferations at an unexplained _tap_ they'd just heard.  
  


Dipper glanced nervously at the coffee table. Even in the returned darkness, he could see there was nothing on it. Yet, just for a moment before he fell, he had been _certain_ he saw a book there. A book that should _not_ have been there. A book that _should_ be at the bottom of the Bottomless Pit where his great uncle had thrown it, along with his other two Journals.  
  


The _hell's_ going on here?" Dipper muttered, turning to go upstairs and find out why the others were thundering around up there like a herd of stampeding wildebeest.  
  


He was just about to put a foot on the first step, when he glanced back at the couch and jumped.  
  


There was a figure sitting on it.  
  


It was distinctly human, as far as Dipper could tell, but had no discernible features and was very transparent.  
  


"Uh...uh," he fiddled with the knobs and dials on the Ghost Detector remote, slapping it a couple of times in annoyance as the Detector buzzed around the apparition's featureless head.   
  


The apparition itself seemed to be looking up and trying to follow the Detector's movement with great difficulty.  
  


Dipper glanced repeatedly from the figure to the readings the Detector was providing.  
  


"That can't be right."  
  


He patted the pockets of his jacket.  
  


"Camera? Camera? Oh c'mon... _yes_!"  
  


He pulled an old 35mm camera from inside the jacket and pointed the lens towards the figure on the couch. The camera clicked as Dipper snapped a photo.  
  


The flash instantly caught the attention of the entity. It stood up and pointed at the camera, shouting in a distorted, wavering voice.  
  


It began to walk quickly towards Dipper, hand and arm outstretched, still pointing.  
  


Dipper was overcome by a feeling of light-headedness, seasoned with the flight side of "fight or flight." He turned and sprinted up the stairs, distantly aware of how loud his footsteps were and how unnaturally they seemed to be echoing.  
  


He darted through the first door on the second story, directly into Dave, who was wielding a Noise Box that was emitting the loudest and most irritating static that Dipper had ever heard.  
  


Dave screamed. "WHOA! DUDE! DIPPER! WHAT!"  
  


"A ghost!" Dipper panted. "A full-bodied apparition in the living room!"  
  


"Are you serious?" Jake said, making a beeline for the stairs and banging into walls as he tried to navigate in the dark.  
  


Dave and Ivy followed on his heels, the angry white noise growing fainter as they thundered down the stairs.  
  


Dipper threw his hands into the air.  
  


"Okay. Well then."  
  


He followed the Harassers, a bit nervously since the apparition had frightened him for a number of reasons, most of which involved that it was a ghostly figure in a dark house filled with people who were already borderline freaking out.  
  


The figure was nowhere to be seen when Dipper arrived back in the living room. Instead, it had been replaced by Jake, who was standing in the middle of the room demanding "TELL US WHO YOU ARE AND WHY YOU ARE HERE, YOU COWARDS!"  
  


Dave was waving the Noise Box like a conductor and Ivy was furiously videotaping with her infrared camera.  
  


"Why isn't it _talking_?" Jake cried in frustration.  
  


"Maybe it doesn't like the noise," Dipper suggested. "I mean, I don't even like it and I'm not dead."  
  


"Huh," Dave said and shut off the static. "Never thought of it that way."  
  


"Let's try to record ghost voices instead," Jake said. He turned to Ivy's camera. "We're back in the living room where guest investigator, Dipper, claims to have just seen a full-bodied apparition. Now we're going to attempt to record EVPs and see if we can communicate with the spirit he just saw."  
  


Jake pulled out a small recording device and held it aloft.  
  


"If you are the ghost that our young friend just saw, can you speak to us through this recorder?"  
  


There was silence as everyone stared into the darkness expectantly.   
  


"Um, guys," Dipper said, eyeing his poor drone, which had crashed to the floor earlier and was now in danger of being trampled. "There was something weird about this ghos..."  
  


"SHHHHH!" Jake hissed loudly. "Shhhhh!" Then "CAN YOU TELL US WHY THIS HOUSE IS SO HAUNTED??"  
  


Again there was no reply but nobody expected there to be. The recorder was meant to pick up frequencies outside of living human range.  
  


Dipper shifted slightly in agitation but didn't try to interrupt again.  
  


"How did you come to be in this place?"  
  


More silence.   
  


Ivy was on high alert and she stared through the camera lens with rapt attention.  
  


Dipper tried to edge closer to the fallen D.P. Ghost Detector without making any noise. He was feeling more and more on edge and convinced that there was something very wrong in the house and the most anomalous thing was what _wasn't_ anomalous.  
  


He reached down to pick up the Detector just as Jake said "Well, that's a wrap. Let's review it right now."  
  


Dave and Ivy crowded in as close as possible around Jake as he held the device to his ear and played back the recording at maximum volume.  
  


" _If you are the ghost that our young friend just saw, can you speak to us through this recorder?_ " came Jake's voice through the tiny speaker, tinny and in poor quality.   
  


They continued to listen, as did Dipper while he ascertained that his drone was unharmed except for a couple of superficial scratches. Although it pained him that his shiny, modified invention had any dings on it, at least it had not been pulverized under the feet of an overly-excited Jake Crescent.  
  


Speaking of which…  
  


The sheer energy of Jake's sudden reaction sent a shockwave into space and nearly caused Dipper to crush the Ghost Detector himself.  
  


"DUDE! What was THAT?!"  
  


"Bro!" Dave exclaimed.  
  


"Go back! Go back!" Ivy said, her voice and camera shaking.  
  


"What?" Dipper asked.  
  


"There was a voice there, bro."  
  


Jake rewound and played again.  
  


" _How did you come to be in this place?_ " Jake's voice said on the recording. Immediately afterwards there was the briefest bit of what sounded to Dipper like garbled static.  
  


"Two syllables!" Jake said.  
  


"Bro," said Dave. "It just said _'Axle’_."  
  


"The singer or the wheel thing?" Jake asked.  
  


"Nononono," Ivy said. "I definitely heard _'Hazel'_."  
  


"Hazel?" Dave said. "Who's Hazel? That doesn't make any sense."  
  


"Well it makes more sense than ‘axle’."  
  


"Wait, wait," said Jake. "I just asked how the spirit got here and it said _axle!_ "  
  


"Ohhh!" said Dave. " _Like the axle on a car!_ "  
  


"Dude, it's telling us it came here in a car!"  
  


"It's a _ghost!_ " Ivy said. "It didn't drive here."  
  


"Well maybe it drove here while it was still alive and then died afterwards."  
  


"But then why say 'axle'? Why not just say 'car'?"  
  


"It was really quick after you asked about how it got here," Dipper pointed out. "Maybe it was responding to the question you asked before. About why the house was haunted."  
  


"Dude!" Dave asked. "It's haunted by axles!"  
  


"Oh my god, _no_ ," said Ivy. "How the _hell_ would it be haunted by _axles_? Are you hearing yourself?"  
  


"But then what does it mean?" Jake asked.   
  


"Maybe one of the spirits is named _Hazel_."  
  


"Guys, I need to tell you something," Dipper said.   
  


Immediately Ivy's camera was in his face.  
  


"Uh," he said, stepping back. "Uh, yeah. So when...when I saw the ghost, the apparition? I had my D.P. Ghost Detector right over it, taking measurements."  
  


"Yeah?" Jake sounded excited.  
  


"The temps, the air pressure, it was all over the place but..." he hesitated.  
  


" _But what_?" Ivy demanded.  
  


"It was a full-bodied specter," Dipper said. " _But my Detector showed zero ectoplasm readings_."  
  


"The fuck?" chorused Jake and Dave.  
  


"Maybe it was malfunctioning?" Ivy suggested.   
  


"Maybe. But I'm running diagnostics right now and I can't find anything wrong."  
  


The four looked at each other.  
  


Right on cue, a door slammed loudly.  
  


**_BOOM!_  
  
**

And that was it for the investigation.  
  


Like a herd of cattle at an unexpected thunderclap, they scattered in a panic and, in Jake and Dave's case, loud shouts containing the words "DUDE!", "BRO!", "FUUUUCK!" and "OH MY GOD HOLY SHIT!"

***

After they were standing on the sidewalk, panting and regrouping, Dipper first wondered if perhaps tearing the heavy front door of the house off its hinges hadn't been a bit of overkill and that maybe it would have been better if they'd just jumped out of a window or something.  
  


Secondly, he felt a bit sheepish.  
  


Once upon a time he had fought back against an apocalypse of nightmares. At least he thought he had. Some days he was less certain than others.  
  


In any case, he felt a bit pathetic for getting that worked up over a loud noise, although the outright panic of the people he was with probably had a decent bit of influence on how he had reacted.  
  


"Holy shit, bro," Jake panted, bent over in the orange glow of a streetlamp, with his hands on his knees.  
  


"I know, right?" said Ivy. "This is gonna' be one helluva episode. NorPac16 is gonna' lose their _shit_!"  
  


"Drink," Dave gasped. "I need a drink."  
  


"On me, rockstars," Ivy announced.  
  


And that was how she, Dave, Jake and Dipper found themselves at a bar, sitting on tall chairs around a circular table, reviewing their evidence.  
  


Ivy ordered them all Captain & Coke and, although Dipper felt nearly as panicky as he had in the Glitch House, the bartender did not card them. In fact, he went into full-on fanboy mode when he recognized Jake, and launched into a very wild story of a supposed apparition he'd seen in that very bar and how his wine glasses always seemed to be breaking.  
  


Ivy snuck an interview with him and then returned with more drinks, much to Dipper's dismay. He was barely a quarter through his first and already he could feel it going to his head in a big way.  
  


"So, Dipsy, _Dipper_ ," Dave was saying next to him.  
  


"Which, by the way," Jake interrupted. "What the hell kind of name is that?"  
  


"Shut up, Jake," Dave said. "What's...what I'm _saying_ is that we...the whole crew...we like you."  
  


"We do," Ivy agreed.  
  


"How would you like to join us for more investigations?" Dave asked.  
  


"We could use your insights and skills," added Jake.  
  


" _Seriously?_ " Dipper almost screamed.  
  


"If you want in, kid, you're in."  
  


Dipper grimaced. "Don't call me that."  
  


"Sorry. Dipper. What'dya' say?"  
  


"I say..." Dipper fiddled with his glasses and flattened his bangs. "I say...I probably shouldn't make any major life choices while drinking rum."  
  


"What?" Ivy laughed. "All the best life choices involve rum."  
  


"He's got a point, though," said Jake.  
  


Dave nodded.  
  


"But seriously," Jake continued. "That was one of the most powerful investigations we've done. The energy there is just so...energized!"  
  


"I should write this down," Dipper said.  
  


"Don't worry, we're gonna' write an entire friggin' narration."  
  


"By 'we', he means 'him'," Dave said. " _He_ will write the narration."  
  


"Which I will edit," said Ivy.  
  


"Say," Dave said. "Dipper..."  
  


"Seriously, how is that your name?" Jake interjected.  
  


"If you must know, it's a nickname. But it's what I go by everywhere to everyone now. Dipper Pines."  
  


"Pines?" Jake asked. "Wait, why do I know that name?"  
  


"Oh SHIT!" Ivy said, snapping her fingers as her eyes went huge. "You're not related to Dr. Stanford Pines are you?"  
  


"As a matter of fact, I am," Dipper absolutely beamed. "He's my uncle. Great uncle, technically. You know him?"  
  


"No _wayyy_ ," Ivy said.  
  


"Stanford Pines?" Jake said. "Wait, wasn't he that guy who attacked that religious rabble-rouser back in the eighties. Ohhhh, what was his name?"   
  


He waved his hands at his friends, silently asking for help.  
  


"Archie Basker," Dave supplied.  
  


"Yeah, that guy. Archie Basker."  
  


"Oh you don't even know the _half_ of it," Ivy said excitedly. "The guy was _brilliant_ but then went off the deep end, spending grant money on who the fuck knows what in Oregon. Rumor has it the guy got into some wack Satanic cult shit and went crazy."  
  


"Are you serious?" Jake said.  
  


"Why do you even _know_ this?" Dave asked.   
  


"Guys, my job is literally researching paranormal stuff for you to investigate. I came across it when I was researching that weird guy in New Jersey. Story like that? I'm definitely gonna' remember it."  
  


"So what happened?" Jake asked.  
  


"They say he opened up some creepazoid tourist trap. But for real, guys," she slapped her palms on the table, causing people at other tables to flinch. " _This_ is our hit episode! We investigate this place in Oregon," she pointed at Jake. "And we get to the bottom of whatever black magic this Dr. Pines was up to."  
  


"Ivy, you're right!" said Jake. "This could be the case we're looking for! Who knows what kind of dark energy this guy stirred up."  
  


"Our ratings will be _through the roof_!" Dave cried. "Dipper! This is great! With you on this project we can...Dipper?"  
  


Everyone turned to look at the chair where Dipper had been sitting, which was now conspicuously vacant. The unfinished drink sat quietly on the table.  
  


Ivy frowned. "Was it something I said?"

***

A while later, Dipper found himself trudging up the walk of a very different house. This one was not vacant or creepy, but rather a very generic house like every other on this particular suburban cul de sac. The yard was perfect and well-lit for the time of night. It was also incredibly familiar. Dipper had spent the better part of his seventeen years living there.  
  


He snuck inside without waking anyone, passing an empty kitchen where the dishwasher was making strangely comforting noises, and the entry to the living room a little further down. He silently crept upstairs to the first doorway, which was extravagantly decorated.  
  


Setting his bag of equipment down, he raised his hand to rap on the door…  
  


And then stopped.  
  


It was late. He was upset. Mabel would be fast asleep and there was no reason to wake her and upset her as well. Besides, when had they hung out last anyway? He'd tell her later.  
  


And so he dropped his hand, gathered his bag and walked to the room down the hall, closing the door with a quiet click behind him.  
  


A few moments later, the brightly-colored door opened and a teenaged Mabel Pines peeked out, hair more unruly and shorter than it had once been.  
  


"Dipper?" she asked quietly, looking up and down the hall. "Are you here? I thought I heard you out here."  
  


No answer.  
  


Mabel sighed, tiredly, returning to her room and climbing into bed after throwing a large and heavy book off the pillow.

***

Somewhere in the rural expanse of Eastern Oregon, a stranger walked into a bar.  
  


His appearance was tall, dark and handsome and also irrelevant, seeing as how he was about to die tragically in what would be ruled as a freak accident.  
  


"Everclear mixes well with some drinks," a local would later tell a reporter. "But matches aren't one of those drinks."  
  


"Matches aren't a drink at all," the reporter would point out, but by then the local would already be creating a social media campaign against matches. The petition alone, which would be hosted on don't-stay-the-same-dot-org, would gather over twelve thousand signatures in twenty-four hours.   
  


The matches campaign would be what made national news but it wouldn't be until much later that evidence surfaced that there was something odd about the demise of the bar. Even then, it would only be noticed if you were paying close attention to such things.  
  


No one would survive to tell exactly what went down at the bar that night but, if the tall, dark and handsome stranger's ghost were able to speak, it would have told a very strange story.  
  


It was dimly-lit inside the bar, and the rank smell of stale alcohol had permeated every surface. If you were sleep-deprived, queasy or sensitive to such things, you would probably feel a bit sick from the odor.  
  


The stranger was unbothered and made his way to the end of the bar closest to the TV, which was tuned to a rerun of _Ghost Harassers_.  
  


The patron two seats over gave the newcomer a glare like a defensive cat whose space had just been invaded by an exuberant and lumbering dog.  
  


Onscreen, Jake Crescent was wearing a black beanie and interviewing an alleged witness at a haunted hospital.  
  


" _Is it true_ ," he was saying. " _That this...spirit actually_ pushed _you?_ "

" _Yes_ ," the woman said, raising her hands to her shoulders and pushing herself backwards. " _Just like this_." She repeated the motion. " _It just_ pushed _me. Just like this_."  
  


" _Just like that?"_ Jake asked enthusiastically.  
  


"'Can I get ya?"  
  


The stranger jerked his attention away from the television and towards a large, gruff bartender standing in front of him with much the same defensive expression as the other patron. The stranger wondered if this was a regional custom.  
  


"Uh...just...I'll have whatever's on tap."  
  


"Got it."  
  


" _Dave, I'm worried_ ," Jake said on TV. " _This sounds darker and more aggressive_."  
  


The camera changed angle to reveal Dave standing with a large camera and biting his lip.  
  


" _Yeah, Jake. This is like_ demonic _level haunting_."  
  


" _We_ owe _it to these people to investigate the truth, though. If there's a demon here, they need to_ know."  
  


There was a jingle throughout the bar and the three men looked up to see a woman walk in with dirty hair frizzed in every direction and huge bags under her eyes.  
  


She was smiling a little too widely.  
  


"Oh hi, Kaylee," the bartender said with a more genuine smile. "Haven't seen you for a while. How was the roadtrip?"  
  


"Vacationsgood," Kaylee spoke a bit too fast, her smile dropping away as she hurried to sit between the two customers. Her movements were jerky and odd.  
  


Even the bartender noticed.  
  


"You okay? You don't look so good."  
  


"Oh I'm fine. I'm fiiiii-iiine," Kaylee replied, leaning back slightly and looking like someone who had lost all hope. "It's just...I realized...we're all pointless. Everything's pointless." She waved an arm and laughed, even as her expression pleaded for help. "Dammit, Don! I _met_ someone. Get me a _martini!_ "  
  


The bartender looked worried but began fixing the drink.  
  


The glaring-like-a-cat man also seemed concerned, if a bit fearful.  
  


"For serious, you okay there?" he frowned. "You met someone?"  
  


"Nonono, I met..a realization. I understood! I _saw!"  
  
_

She snatched the martini and slammed it.  
  


"You're all...you're all _nothing!_ This was something..." her face fell slack and her eyes bugged. "I...I'm going to die. I'M GOING TO DIE! I can't have that in my head and live!"  
  


The stranger felt compelled to speak.  
  


"Drugs are bad, lady."  
  


She turned to him, tears streaming down her face.  
  


"Kaylee," the bartender said pleadingly, leaning across to her. "Let us help, okay?"  
  


But Kaylee started laughing again. "Oh but this is all hopeless. Hopeless! The world is doomed and I don't fucking _care_! I'm gonna' pay you with this!"  
  


A strange tension filled the air.  
  


"I saw...I saw...I was...I _want_..."  
  


The bartender frowned at an odd smoky smell that didn't seem to be coming from the kitchen, but his focus was more on how Kaylee was sweating and shaking now.  
  


"Revenge, it's more than revenge," she cried. "It's _play_ , it's all mixed-up, messed-up but _they will_ be targeted!" Her eyes widened. "You have to warn them!"  
  


She grabbed the bartender's hands with her own, squeezing them harder than she should have been capable of in her current state.  
  


"Uh..." the bartender jerked back, his hands scalded.  
  


He screamed.  
  


"I saw it!" the woman gasped. "I _felt_ it..."  
  


"Saw what?" the stranger shouted at her. "Warn who?"

  
But she was screaming now, or perhaps laughing, her body suddenly _consumed in a plume of hot flame_ that shot out in all directions, taking the entire building with her, including the television set where Jake was staring into the camera with a very odd expression on his face.


	2. THE AGENTS IN THE KITCHEN

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dipper and Mabel deal with the appearance of some unexpected guests at their home in Piedmont. Meanwhile, Robbie Valentino returns to Gravity Falls and connects with an old friend, and makes a new one.

“You hear much from him lately?” Eleanor Pines asked as she mixed a pot of oatmeal on the stove.  
  


“No, Mom,” Dipper said, grabbing a pop tart box out of the cabinet only to find it empty. He sighed and frowned at the box with a very worried expression. “Nothing for a long time. No word from Great Uncle Ford either.”  
  


“Aren’t you a little old for Mabel’s stories, Dips? Even she doesn’t spin that yard anymore. Well, she still spins  _ yarn  _ but...you get my drift.”  
  


They both laughed, although Dipper with slightly less amusement than his mother.   
  


Neither of the twins’ parents had any idea that the fantastic tales that Mabel had enthusiastically told them regarding their Summer in Oregon were anything other than products of an overactive imagination.  
  


It was kind of alienating, to be honest.  
  


At first it had been like having a special secret that nobody else knew but, as time passed, it became harder and harder for Dipper to believe that any of the things he remembered from Gravity Falls had actually happened. The normalcy of their day-to-day life made it hard to think that he had actually chased monsters and demons and thwarted worldwide annihilation.   
  


At first Dipper had enthusiastically searched for anything anomalous in the Piedmont area, often recruiting his sister for help. He’d even started a short-lived channel on MeScreen to make videos about conspiracies and the paranormal. For a long time there was nothing to investigate, but then stories of the Glitch House began to spread and immediately captured his attention.  
  


And then there was Mabel.  
  


Mabel and Dipper both found themselves involved in school activities, gradually drifting apart until one day they realized they hardly ever spent time together. Dipper was focused on science, Mabel on a direct track for acting, until she blew up the drama class stage.  
  


Now highschool was nearly through. Dipper would hopefully be leaving for college and Mabel...wouldn’t.  
  


“That’s too bad,” Eleanor Pines said, interrupting Dipper’s morose train of thought. “I think Mabel is really hoping that Stanford’ll show up for your graduation.”  
  


“So am I,” Dipper admitted. “I dunno’, I kind of half expect them... _ him _ to surprise us and be there.”   
  


“I wouldn’t hold my breath, sweetie. No one’s heard anything for a long time, I’m afraid.”  
  


There was silence as Eleanor dished up a bowl of oatmeal and handed it to her son. He took it and began heaping brown sugar on top of it.  
  


“You never told me how it went yesterday with those ghost chasers.”  
  


“Eh,” said Dipper, finally deciding he had the appropriate amount of sugar on his oatmeal.   
  


“That good, huh?”  
  


“They’re kind of dicks.”  
  


_ " _ _ I _ could have told you that. The whole show’s a fraud. That Jake Crescent guy? Says he has psychic abilities? Seriously, Dips, he’s even worse than that one guy who used to be in Mabel’s class and couldn’t act.”  
  


Dipper laughed, a bit sadly, and then changed the subject.  
  


“Where’s Dad?”  
  


Eleanor rolled her eyes. “In the yard counting birds or something.”  
  


Mr. Pines had gotten into birdwatching recently, thanks to Mabel giving him a pair of binoculars for his birthday. He’d become rather fixated with listing types and numbers of backyard birds, something his wife couldn’t find it within herself to care about.  
  


“Has he had breakfast?”  
  


Another eyeroll. “I have no idea. I should take him some coffee. He didn’t fix any. I tell you, the day birds became more important than coffee to that man was a very sad day indeed.”  
  


After his mother disappeared into what passed as their backyard, Dipper poured his own mug of coffee and prepared to get back to studying.  
  


Eleanor, as it turned out, had been completely right about her husband’s whereabouts and activities.   
  


Mr. Pines was standing on a small brick patio, watching hummingbirds chase each other along the top of the backyard privacy fence.  
  


“You forgot your coffee again, Palmer. And you should probably work on getting ready to go. I want to be on the road by nine.”  
  


Eleanor Pines had short, reddish hair, green eyes, thin-rimmed glasses and gave the impression of a no-nonsense professional. In most cases, that impression would be correct.  
  


By contrast, Palmer looked as if he had attempted to appear professional and had only just made the cut. He had thinning hair, which he constantly tried to force flat despite the fact that Pines hair just wouldn’t cooperate.   
  


“There’s some lady two streets over with binoculars,” Palmer said, taking the coffee mug.  
  


“There’s some man in  _ our  _ backyard with binoculars,” Eleanor pointed out. “I’m surprised nobody in the neighborhood has complained that you’re spying on them.”  
  


“Nah, they’re like you. Focused on a computer screen.”  
  


“Whoah, whoah!  _ Excuse  _ me?”  
  


Palmer raised his eyebrows. “Nine o’clock?”  
  


“Yes.”  
  


“Was half an hour ago.”  
  


Elanor swore very loudly.

Dipper quietly ate his oatmeal as his parents flew into a frenzy running about the house, yelling at each other as they attempted to get ready for the upcoming symposium they were planning to attend.  
  


It was a fairly normal event in the Pines household. Everyone always seemed to be constantly behind and getting moreseo as panic ensued.  
  


“I swear, one of these days we’ll be  _ ahead  _ of time!” Eleanor shouted. “How is it the more on-time we  _ try  _ to be, the more  _ off- _ time we end up!”  
  


“Off-time isn’t a word!” Palmer cried.  
  


“It is now! And you better not leave your phone on the roof today, we won’t have time to stop if it flies off and breaks again…”  
  


“Hey Mom?” Dipper asked. “Can I borrow the car?”  
  


“Absolutely  _ not _ ! I...still don’t want you driving by yourself. And anyway, your father and I have a symposium in Las Angeles this weekend so we kinda’ need the car to get there.”  
  


“You’re going to L.A. today? Gee, thanks for telling me.”  
  


“If you actually paid attention, you’d  _ know _ ,” Eleanor snapped, her patience from earlier gone completely. “I swear, we could get kidnapped by a cult from your ghost show and you wouldn’t notice.”

***

Leaves were just starting to pop out, mostly in the lower elevations. Higher up on some of the north-facing mountainsides, snow still held on in the shadows, the last defiant stand of Winter.  
  


Besides the driver, there were only three people on the bus but, when Robbie Valentino thought about it, that wasn’t particularly surprising. It wasn’t as though hordes of people ever really flocked to Gravity Falls during peak season, never mind this time of year.  
  


One of the other riders was short and decidedly cute, with fluorescent red and blonde dreadlocks sticking out in every direction. Robbie had thought they looked pretty cool, though probably way too old for him.  
  


Even so, he felt a bit perturbed when they had immediately struck up a friendly conversation with the other stranger on the bus, a thin and handsome boy with waves of blonde hair and who looked even younger than Robbie.  
  


“Yeah. My luck.”  
  


Robbie pulled a pair of heavy-duty headphones out of his backpack and settled in for the rest of the ride.  
  


A lot had changed in four years, not the least of which was Robbie’s fashion sense. He still dressed with a vague intention to impress but he was a lot less goth and a lot more casual. He’d let his hair go back to it’s natural brown and grown it long enough to pull back in a bun. He hoped he rocked the look and hoped everyone else thought he rocked in general.   
  


Returning to Gravity Falls for the Summer after his college sophomore year wasn’t what Robbie had envisioned. He hadn’t really even planned to do so, and he couldn’t say what exactly it was that had compelled him to buy a ticket.  
  


It was strange but he missed the little town and something was drawing him back.  
  


There was nobody waiting when they arrived at their destination. The three travelers disembarked into a grove of towering trees and, for a moment, Robbie was overwhelmed by the familiar sounds and smells of... _ home _ .  
  


It was a bit of a walk into town but Robbie didn’t mind, he was grinning in spite of himself, listening to the birds singing and quite frankly feeling like friggin’ Mary Poppins or something.  
  


Robbie gripped his backpack straps and took in a great lungful of forest air.  
  


Yeah, he’d definitely missed this more than he cared to admit to himself or anyone else.  
  


Well,  _ almost  _ anyone else.  
  


Robbie didn’t immediately go home. Truth be told, he hadn’t actually informed his parents yet that he was even  _ coming  _ home. The only person other than Tambry that he’d told was…  
  


“Oh my god! Robbie!”  
  


The pair of strong arms that gripped him in a firm hug belonged to a red-haired young lady he’d not seen for close to a year.  
  


He gripped her back tightly.   
  


“Heya, Wendy.”  
  


“Oh dude,” Wendy stepped back. “Let me look at you. It’s been way too long.”  
  


Of all the people Robbie knew, Wendy had changed the least. She’d matured, definitely, but she still looked like she could, at any moment, tromp off into the forest and start kicking ass.  
  


“C’mon,” Wendy said. “There’s a bonfire going at my Dad’s place and the whole fam damily is cooking some sort of dead animal.”  
  


“I am kind of hungry, actually,” Robbie said.  
  


“Good,” Wendy took Robbie’s backpack and slung it over her shoulder.  
  


“Hey!” he protested. “I’m in college, I”m not helpless.”  
  


“Pfft! You kind of are. But you’ve lugged this thing all the way down from the bus stop. Let me carry it. What the heck is in here anyway? It weighs like eight hundred pounds.”  
  


“Books.”  
  


“Books?”  
  


“Yeah,” Robbie said, trying to sound casual and rubbing the back of his neck self-consciously. “I’m, like, writing a novel or whatever.”  
  


“Robbie, that’s so cool!”  
  


They walked in companionable silence the rest of the way to Manly Dan Corduroy’s house, which looked like it was in danger of being engulfed by the fire in the yard.  
  


“The fire! It lives!” cried Manly Dan. “My finest creation!”  
  


“I forgot how much your dad scares me,” Robbie said, stopping short.  
  


“Ugh,” said Wendy. “I told them not to use spruce boughs.”   
  


Wendy’s brothers were running about, waving rakes at the fire as if it were a great beast to be distracted and subdued.   
  


Wendy dropped Robbie’s backpack under a tree and ran over to have an intense discussion with her father.  
  


“NO!” Dan shouted. “The steak must be roasted over an open fire on a stick!”  
  


“Dad! Dad! This isn’t a fire, it’s the origin story of how you got arrested for arson!”  
  


Wow, Robbie thought. It had been a long time since he’d witnessed a scene like this.  
  


Once, this town was the last place he’d wanted to be and any such dispute between the Corduroys had just seemed painful and frustrating to watch. Back then, he wouldn’t have been able to comprehend that his older self could ever derive enjoyment from the bizarre scene unfolding in front of him.  
  


A flaming squirrel ran streaking from the bonfire and into the woods, and Wendy returned, handing Robbie a very charred hamburger as she sat down next to him.  
  


“My classmates are pretty strange,” Robbie admitted. “But even they’d be weirded out by this. Wow, this burger is  _ amazing _ !”  
  


“My classmates are lame,” Wendy said.  
  


“Yeah? How is lumberjane school going for you anyway?”  
  


“It’s forestry school, dork. And I just finished my two-year.”  
  


“Whoah. So you could be a legit ranger?”  
  


“Eh,” Wendy said.  
  


They lapsed into silence once more.  
  


The boys finally had the fire under some semblance of control and it was now crackling cheerfully.  
  


“So,” Wendy said. “Where’s Tambry? I haven’t seen you without her for, like, years.”  
  


“Tambers went to study in Mexico,” Robbie said fondly. “Said she wanted a change of scenery, which I get.”  
  


“So are you still a thing then?”  
  


Robbie looked awkward. “Welll, we kind of agreed not to be while she’s off traveling. Afterwards, we’ll see.”  
  


“Huh,” was all Wendy said.  
  


She watched the fire, glancing carefully at her home to make sure no stray embers had landed on the roof.  
  


“So what’s new in town?” Robbie asked. “Anything…” he lowered his voice. “Weird or unnatural?”  
  


“You mean the stuff it’s illegal to mention because of the You-Know-What Act?” Wendy said, her voice halfway between teasing and genuinely distressed.  
  


“This fire is weird and unnatural,” said one of Wendy’s brothers, whom Robbie was fairly certain was named Rufus.  
  


“Yeah, that’s fairly obvious,” Wendy laughed.  
  


“No really,” Rufus said seriously. “This man just wandered into the yard and exploded.”  
  


" _ What _ ?” Wendy and Robbie both exclaimed.  
  


“What do you mean  _ exploded _ ?” Wendy asked.  
  


“Well we were piling up trees for the bonfire and this guy comes screaming out of the woods and jumps on the pile and it all just goes up in flames.”  
  


“Uhhhhh…” Robbie said.  
  


“Well that’s kind of unusual, even for here,” Wendy admitted.  
  


Rufus shrugged. “Never mind all that.”  
  


He trotted back to the fire and began roasting a hotdog over it.  
  


Robbie and Wendy looked at each other.  
  


“Okay, let’s recap,” said Robbie. “I’ve been back in town for, like...an  _ hour _ _?_ And already we’re eating burgers cooked over someone’s flaming corpse?”  
  


“Never mind all that,” Wendy said, gritting her teeth and looking skywards.  
  


“Wait, wait. Wendy. Are you saying the Never Mind All That Act is just causing people to ignore this kind of shit?”  
  


“It’s illegal to even mention it. Basically it’s enforced denial. You see something, you say  _ nothing _ .”  
  


“Well that’s gotten more extreme since I was here.”  
  


Wendy nodded. “Well, to answer your question, the shit we can’t mention has gotten more extreme since you were here.”  
  


“Like how?”  
  


“Robbie! Never mind all that!”  
  


“What? No! Since when have we been sticklers for rules?”  
  


“No, seriously! Never mind all that -  _ look _ !”  
  


Wendy pointed at what appeared to be a small portion of the fire separating itself from the rest and hurrying towards them.  
  


“Oh my god is that him?” Robbie cried, leaping to his feet. “The last remnant of a combusted man’s soul escaping!”  
  


He backed up but ran smack into the tree behind him.  
  


Wendy brandished a shiny axe and made to swing it down upon the scurrying flames, only to miss it by millimeters repeatedly as it ran at Robbie!  
  


“AAAAAGGGGHHHHH!” he yelled, pressing his back against the tree as the  _ thing  _ approached his feet and…  
  


Stopped.  
  


“Hah!” Wendy cried, lifting her axe to strike.  
  


“No, no! Wait!” Robbie cried, raising a palm towards her.  
  


Wendy froze, suspended over the little flaming creature, which was now sitting at Robbie’s feet, looking up at him imploringly with a pair of coal black eyes.  
  


“Huh,” Wendy said, relaxing slightly and lowering her axe. “Okay, that  _ is  _ kind of cute.”  
  


“The fuck _is_ it ?” Robbie asked.   
  


He frowned and squinted, leaning down slightly. The creature’s coal eyes widened and its flames burst higher as it scuttled backwards a couple of feet.  
  


“I think I  _ scared  _ it.”  
  


“Pretty sure there was something about this little guy in Doc Pines’ journal,” Wendy said. “But I don’t remember what he wrote about it.”  
  


“Hey, hey,” Robbie squatted down, trying to appear less threatening to the alarmed fire monster.  
  


From this angle, he could see that it had four feet on what looked like small, stubby legs. If the body was made up of the same, he couldn’t tell because it was covered by tufts and plumes of crackling fire.  
  


“It’s okay,” he said, extending a hand. “C’mere little guy.”  
  


The flames slowly lowered and the creature took a few curious steps closer.  
  


“I’m thinking this is  _ not  _ the dude Rufus saw,” Wendy said. “But maybe it knows something.”  
  


“Did you see a guy explode?” Robbie cooed as the creature began running in excited circles around him.  
  


“Ugh, Robbie. What is  _ wrong  _ with you?”  
  


The monster finally came to a stop in front of him and settled down expectantly.  
  


“Awww,” Robbie said.   
  


He reached out to pet it, immediately yanking his hand back.  
  


“YEOWCH!”  
  


“Um, Robbie?”  
  


“Yeah, I don’t know what I expected.”  
  


“It’s literally on fire.”  
  


“Yeah. I get that.”  
  


“I think it likes you.”  
  


Robbie picked up a stick. “You hungry, little guy?”  
  


The creature began hopping up and down on its stump legs.  
  


“Here! Fetch!”  
  


Robbie threw the stick and the creature ran delightedly after it.  
  


“Oh my gosh, Wendy! Look at it scamper!”  
  


Wendy snapped her fingers. “Scampfire!”  
  


Robbie looked at her. “What?”  
  


“Scampfires. That’s what the Doc called these things.”  
  


The scampfire returned to Robbie and spat the now charred and smoking stick at his feet.  
  


“I like it,” Robbie said. “Hey there, Scamp.”  
  


The scampfire reached out a foot and tapped the stick, pushing it closer to Robbie.  
  


“Okay, I think I’m going to puke, this is so cute.”  
  


He gently picked up the stick with two fingers, hissing as it was still very hot, and flung it quickly into the woods. The scampfire pursued it very enthusiastically.   
  


“I totally love this place,” Robbie said.   
  


Scamp returned and spat out what was left of the stick (which wasn’t much) and stamped their little feet in the leaves.  
  


Robbie tossed the remains of the stick.  
  


“What do you hear from the old gang?”  
  


“Well,” Wendy said. “Thompson is still in town. I hardly ever see him, though. Nate is working as a ranch hand, if you can figure  _ that  _ out. And  _ Lee  _ is studying film and theater in New York.”  
  


“No shit!” Robbie laughed. “Why am I both shocked and unsurprised?  _ Scamp _ _!_ That is a smoldering sliver of wood. I can’t throw  _ that  _ for you!”  
  


Scamp looked crushed.  
  


“Hey, don’t look at me like that, man. It’s not the only stick in the world. Here.”   
  


He picked up a larger stick and chucked it as far as he could.  
  


Scamp nearly tripped over themself trying to chase after it.  
  


“I wish Tambry was here to see this,” Robbie said. “I’m playing fetch with a living campfire.”  
  


“I dunno,” Wendy said. “She never seemed so enthusiastic about this stuff.”  
  


“To be fair, we were kinda’ traumatized by you-know-what. And even before that. And we didn’t appreciate the good weirdness. And now it’s apparently against the frickin’ law to appreciate it.”  
  


Wendy slapped him on the back. “We’re too cool for rules, remember? So let’s go on record appreciating this small flaming beastie.”  
  


The scampfire dropped the stick, which was now on fire.  
  


“This has to be a hazard,” Robbie said, stomping it out before throwing the stick again.   
  


They talked for a while longer and several more sticks, catching up on Robbie’s not-particularly-exciting college life and Wendy’s plans to apply to be an Outward Bound instructor in Minnesota rather than the Forest Service just yet.  
  


“That’s so far away!” Robbie protested.  
  


“It’s just, I can’t see myself working any kind of normal job nine to five.”  
  


“So you’re gonna’ go on month-long canoe trips with a bunch of kids? I mean, more power to you Wendy but no thanks.”  
  


Wendy laughed. “That’s what everyone says. But I grew up with these clowns,” she gestured towards her family, who were now all crowded around the bonfire and shouting at it to burn  _ harder _ . “Not to mention hanging out with the Pines and Candy and Grenda when they were younger. I think I’d be good at it.”  
  


“I dunno.’ I think they were exceptions to the All Kids Suck rule.”  
  


“Hah! That’s not what you used to say.”  
  


“Uh? Because I  _ was  _ a kid who sucked?”  
  


“Wow, Robbie. Don’t say that.”  
  


“It’s true. Anyways, what are you doing before you head to Minnesota to get eaten by mosquitoes? You still got the Mystery Shack gig?”  
  


“Eh, not for a couple of years. I kinda’ feel bad about quitting, though. Mel is doing a great job though.”  
  


“How are  _ they  _ doing with the anti-weirdness laws?”  
  


“As long as they keep it stupid fake, they’re in the clear. Soos totally rocks the Mr. Mystery act, too. You should totally go see him and Mel.”  
  


“Yeah, I’m sure they’d be overjoyed to see  _ me _ ,” Robbie said sarcastically.  
  


“Actually I think they would. Soos loves revisiting the old days. Maybe a little too much but…”  
  


Wendy shrugged.  
  


“Yeah, I’ll have to say hi,” Robbie said, although Wendy could tell he had absolutely no intentions of doing so.   
  


“Well,” Wendy said. “I take it your parents don’t even know you’re in town yet. You wanna’ go surprise ‘em?”  
  


“No rush,” Robbie said.  
  


“Well then what’d’ya’ want to do? We could hang out here or watch that new show or a movie or something…?”  
  


“That actually sounds fun. It’s been way too long.”

***

Dipper spent the afternoon doing homework that involved solving complex equations, and creating graphs.   
  


If West Coast Tech was indeed considering him, he was determined to get into the school - and that meant he needed top grades in the most difficult classes.   
  


It also meant he had been spending less time with his family, which he felt slightly guilty about. His day with the Ghost Harassers had been his first free day in a long time.  
  


Dipper felt slightly guilty about being so reclused but, once it was all squashed away, he was certain he’d have more time.  
  


Plus, it wasn’t like his family seemed to be making a huge effort to connect with him. Mabel was usually off by herself at coffee shops or holed up in her room, and his parents were always working or going to conferences or getting in a tizz about going to said conferences.  
  


Dipper leaned back in his desk chair and stretched, glancing briefly at the ceiling as if it might give him an answer to something.  
  


The ceiling was unexciting except for a scale model of the solar system, with a few modifications that Ford had told him about in a letter mailed from New Zealand. At the edge of the solar system were a pair of glittery purple bats that Mabel had hung from tiny and impossible-to-remove hooks.  
  


The rest of the room was cluttered and the desk piled high with papers and books. To any outside viewer, it would appear to be completely random and chaotic but this was not, in fact, the case.  
  


Despite the mess, it was all meticulously organized and Dipper knew exactly where everything was.   
  


If the equations, homework and graph paper were the most eye-catching feature of the room, the back wall and shelf behind the bed were worth a second look.   
  


The shelving held an old VHS camcorder that had not been used in a long time, Players Handbooks for three different editions of Dungeons, Dungeons And More Dungeons, every season of  _ Ghost Harassers _ , numerous well-read books from several series of childrens’ mysteries, a few more recent fantasy novels, two leather-bound journals sitting on a small metal box and a furry bomber hat that looked a bit worse for wear.  
  


On the wall were a couple of movie posters and one of Albert Einstein, but the central feature was a picture of Dipper and Mabel at age twelve, standing on the porch of the Mystery Shack.  
  


Dipper stared at the picture for a long moment, then turned back to his laptop screen and fiddled with his glasses.  
  


" _ Describe the theoretical process of time travel and explain why it would be impractical _ ,” he read aloud.  
  


A memory of a giant floating baby with laser eyes came to mind. It seemed so strange and surreal that Dipper once again wondered if it was something he’d actually experienced.  
  


“Time travel,” he muttered, scratching his head and squinting at the screen.  
  


There were a lot of time travel facts that Dipper knew (but shouldn’t know), and whoever had posed this homework question was likely not at all ready for them.  
  


The conversation with his mother regarding his great uncles was weighing heavily on Dipper’s mind and he sat back in his chair again and sighed heavily.   
  


Mabel didn’t come out of her room at lunchtime and, hours later, when Dipper heated up some Cuppy-Noodles for supper, there was still no sign of her.  
  


“MABEL YOU NEED TO EAT!” he shouted up the stairs, but there was no response.  
  


After he put his dishes in the sink, Dipper began to really wonder about his sister.   
  


He went to bed, but lay awake, staring at the shelves and the Mystery Shack picture.  
  


Ever since the stage explosion had brought Mabel’s dreams of going to acting school to an abrupt end, she’d been different and more closed-off. At the time, she’d taken it in stride, despite the acting school’s selection committee being in attendance but things had definitely changed afterwards.  
  


It was quite late at night when Dipper finally got up and went to knock on Mabel’s door. He noticed that the light was still on and shining through the crack on the floorboards.  
  


“Mabel,” he said. “I know you’re in there, I can hear you breathing.”  
  


There was a stifled snort of amusement from within.  
  


“Mabel, I’m coming in.”  
  


Dipper pushed open the door and saw his sister seated on her bed, hurriedly pushing a book under her pillow.  
  


“JUST TAKING PART IN SOME SELF-INDULGENT NOSTALGIA!” Mabel said far too loudly. “Hey Dips.”  
  


“You okay?”  
  


“I’m awesome. As always.”  
  


Dipper laughed quietly, pulling the door to as he entered the room.  
  


There was a loud  _ GRUNT  _ as a massive boar looked up from where he was snoozing on a dog bed.  
  


“Hi Waddles,” Dipper said.  
  


Mabel’s room was quite different from Dippers, although it was just as messy. Somehow Dipper doubted it was as organized as his own clutter but he wasn’t one to judge.  
  


Laundry was scattered across the floor and the walls were plastered with pictures and collages of the past few years. The ceiling was covered with what Dipper estimated to be about seven hundred and fifty glow-in-the-dark stars.  
  


Everything was lit by two very colorful lamps, which illuminated the various cosmetics that littered every flat surface, along with magazines and how-to books. There were some papers and a pencil buried underneath a bottle of  _ MEGA-HOLD-DOOM-HAIR-GEL  _ (and a package of spilled eye shadow), but otherwise no evidence that things like school even existed.  
  


And then of course, there was Waddles, whose presence overwhelmed everything else in the room. He approached Dipper, nose raised and grunting enthusiastically.  
  


“I don’t have any grapes for you,” Dipper said, and Waddles looked highly offended.  
  


How Mabel had managed to housetrain Waddles was anybody’s guess, but if there was one person who could do it, that was Mabel Pines.  
  


Dipper crossed the room and sat down next to his sister.  
  


“Revisiting your scrapbook, right? You know you don’t have to hide that. Not from me.”  
  


Mabel rolled her eyes. “Well...I hardly ever see you anymore, Dips.”  
  


“I literally live in the next room.”  
  


“That’s what makes it so hard. I mean, I knew this was going to happen. I knew we were going to grow apart. You don’t even know the  _ lengths  _ I’ve gone to to make sure we aren’t split apart but somehow I only made it worse…”  
  


“Mabel…”  
  


“Aside from you, I can’t talk to  _ anybody  _ about what happened in Gravity Falls.”  
  


“You know, more and more I wonder if it was even real.”  
  


“What? Definitely real, can confirm! I was there! But I know what you mean.”  
  


Dipper stared at one of the pictures on the wall, showing his great uncles. Stanley was wearing the most cheesy grin ever captured on film, while Stanford looked stoic and mildly annoyed.  
  


“I wish we could talk to them.”  
  


“I know!” Mabel said. “It’s been, what? Months? A year?”  
  


The last contact they had with the intrepid captains of the  _ Stan-O-War II _ had been eleven months ago and it was merely a postcard from Halifax that just said how much they were missing Dipper and Mabel and that they hoped things were going well for them.  
  


Since then there had been radio silence. It wasn’t unprecedented but, in the years following their Summer spent in Gravity Falls, Stan and Ford had sent regular postcards and letters, with the occasional facetime chat over the computer. And they had gone well out of their way to call the Pines’ Piedmont residence on Dipper and Mabel’s birthday each year.  
  


There had been no phone call on their seventeenth birthday.  
  


“I’m worried too,” Dipper said.  
  


“Dipper, what if something’s  _ happened  _ to them?” Mabel choked out, her eyes suddenly wetter than they should have been.  
  


Dipper flopped back on the bed. “I know, Mabel. I...I’ve looked. I’ve searched online. I can’t find  _ anything _ .”  
  


“Summer’s nearly here. Maybe we should look for them.”  
  


“How? Mom won’t even let me use the  _ car _ _!_ They could be anywhere in the ocean. It’d be like trying to find a needle in a whole warehouse of haystacks.”  
  


“Plus, it’s not like we have the funds,” Mabel said.  
  


Silence fell over the room. A heavy silence full of thoughts and worry for two men that they hoped were still on a boat somewhere, roaming the wide-open sea.  
  


“You ever think,” Dipper said. “That maybe it’s better that we  _ don’t  _ know?”  
  


Mabel didn’t reply. Instead she asked. “You ever hear from Wendy anymore?”  
  


“Nuh-uh. It’s like that whole world...all those people just…”  
  


“Drifted away,” Mabel finished.  
  


**_CRASH!  
  
_ **

Dipper shot upright and a multitude of plastic stars fell off the ceiling and onto his head.  
  


The entire house rattled.  
  


“Ow!” Dipper hissed   
  


Waddles looked around wildly.  
  


‘What was that?’ Mabel mouthed.  
  


“I dunno’,” Dipper whispered. “It sounded like glass breaking.”  
  


He stood up and Mabel pulled on an absurdly fluffy pink housecoat. She then reached under her bed to retrieve…  
  


“Really?” Dipper hissed.  
  


“Grappling hook!” she whispered seriously.  
  


“ _ Really _ _?”_ Dipper whispered back. “You still have that thing?”  
  


“Duh.” She pushed past him and silently opened the door to the hallway. “C’mon, Dipper! Just like old times.”  
  


Dipper snatched Mabel’s phone and opened the night-vision app he had insisted she download for just such an occasion.   
  


“Mabel, be careful.  _ Wait _ .”  
  


“It sounded like it came from the kitchen,” Mabel said, clutching her grappling hook tightly and tiptoeing down the dark stairs.  
  


Dipper gestured at Waddle to stay put as he was anything but silent when he walked, then sprinted to Mabel’s side.  
  


Together they crept through the house.  
  


There was a rattling sound from the kitchen and a light suddenly appeared. Dipper immediately recognized it as coming from the refrigerator.  
  


“What the…?” he whispered.  
  


He and Mabel peered around the corner and saw a figure standing in the middle of the kitchen, ripping the cap off one of Mabel’s bottles of Croco-Hydrate. It threw the cap on the floor and immediately began desperately chugging the drink.  
  


Warm orange light from the streetlamp outside filtered through the newly-broken window above the sink and Dipper could make out that the figure was wearing a leather flightsuit and goggles, and had a long ponytail pulled through the back of their cap.  
  


Dipper gave Mabel a look, silently seeking her advice as to what they should do.  
  


The normal response would be to rouse their parents or call the police. But their parents were far away, and their Summer in Gravity Falls had given them a very good sense of what wasn’t quite normal - and right now that sense was firing off alarms in both their heads.  
  


The stranger threw the now-empty Croco-Hydrate bottle to the floor and opened the fridge again, reaching for another.  
  


“HEY!” Mabel yelled. “THOSE ARE MINE!”  
  


The figure jumped and dropped the bottle on the floor, where unnaturally blue liquid splashed everywhere.  
  


“Oh fucking dammit!” it yelped in a voice that, while rough and dry, sounded as though it just might belong to a woman.  
  


Dipper flipped on the kitchen light and the figure stared at them, eyes wide behind the goggles.  
  


“Who the hell are you?” Dipper demanded. “And what are you doing in our house?”  
  


Flightsuit didn’t speak. She stood frozen, continuing to look at Dipper and Mabel as if they were the most shocking things ever witnessed.  
  


She did, Dipper noticed, have what looked like a nametag with the word ‘RISTICA’ printed on it, next to a stylized hourglass.  
  


“So...uh, your name’s Ristica?” Dipper pointed to the tag. “Mind telling us why you’re in our kitchen?”  
  


“Um…” Ristica began.  
  


“I have a grappling hook,” Mabel said, brandishing her once-favorite tool. “And we called the police.”  
  


A second figure crashed through the window, taking out the small amount of remaining glass, which scattered across the floor.  
  


Dipper and Mabel ducked, but Ristica payed no attention to the loud arrival behind her.  
  


“We _are_ the police,” she said simply.  
  


The second figure picked himself up off the floor and Dipper recognized him with a jolt.  
  


“Time police,” the newcomer clarified.  
  


When Dipper and Mabel had met him before, the man in question had looked much healthier and had worn a very sophisticated time agent suit. Now, however, he was dressed in a battered leather suit similar to Ristica’s only with no cap, more armor, a digital eyepiece and heavy combat boots. He too wore a nametag, proclaiming him to be ‘DUNDGREN.’  
  


“But we haven’t  _ done  _ anything!” Mabel protested.  
  


“Not  _ yet _ ,” Dipper said worriedly.  
  


But Dundgren barely seemed to notice them.  
  


“There you are,” he said. “I thought for a second we’d lost you. Where the hell are we?”  
  


For the first time since she’d laid eyes on them, Ristica turned away from Dipper and Mabel.  
  


“We’re in California, Dundgren. Early twenty-first century.”  
  


“Why?” Dundgren asked. “And what the hell is wrong with your voice?”  
  


“I miscalculated. And this thing,” she held up a very battered measuring tape with an odd dial on the side. “Is glitching something wild.”  
  


“That and everything else we own.”  
  


Ristica threw a third Croco-Hydrate to Dundgren. “Drink this. It’ll offset the timesickness.”  
  


“Aaaaaanybody care to fill us in?” Dipper asked. “On what’s going on? Anything?”  
  


There was a loud grunt from the doorway as Waddles joined what he could only assume was a midnight party in the kitchen that he’d been rudely excluded from.  
  


Ristica’s jaw dropped and she just pointed at the large pig, seemingly lost for words.  
  


“It’s you two,” Dundgren said, at last taking a good look at the Pines. “This glitch isn’t your doing, is it?”  
  


“Definitely not,” Dipper said.  
  


“One hundred percent certainly not us,” Mabel added.  
  


Ristica’s legs gave out and she slid slowly down the front of the fridge and sat down hard on the floor in mild shock, and Waddles rushed over and began enthusiastically sniffing her.  
  


“You’ve grown,” Dundgren said to the twins. “How old are you now?”  
  


“Seventeen,” Mabel said. “And you mean to tell us you don’t know why you’re here?”  
  


“I was just following along behind Ristica. She must have made a time error and we ended up here and now.”  
  


“What were you trying to do?”  
  


“We shouldn’t really be telling you this,” Dundgren said. “But truth be told, we’re looking for Blendin Blandin. He’s vanished. Again.”  
  


“Blendin Blar-Blar?” Mabel asked. “We haven’t seen him since…” her voice trailed off.  
  


“Four years ago,” Dipper finished. “He tried to get us involved in some treasure hunt scheme.”  
  


Mabel gave Dipper an odd look.  
  


Ristica finally tore herself away from Waddles’, whom she was now absently petting.  
  


“We think he might have some information on the uprisers.”  
  


“Your voice is sounding better,” Dundgren said with a smile.  
  


“Yeah. That was a rough timejump.”  
  


“So Blendy’s vanished?” Mabel asked.⁓  
  


“What uprisers?” Dipper asked at the same time.  
  


Dundgren looked out the broken window, jaw set firmly.  
  


“You in this time might be living in a peaceful world after the whole Weirdmageddon thing…” he began.  
  


Dipper felt his stomach clench at the term ‘Weirdmaggedon.’  
  


“But,” Dundgren continued. I’m afraid that isn’t the case in 207̃17. It’s bad.”  
  


“What? What do you mean?” Mabel asked. “Is the future ruled by giant spider-zombies now?”  
  


“I mean it’s not ruled by anyone. We sent troops to try and stop Bill Cipher during Weirdmageddon and he vaporized them AND Time Baby. So our forces are practically extinct and nobody is in control.”  
  


“But you’re still the time police,” Dipper said.  
  


“The Time Paradox Avoidance Enforcement Squadron only has a semblance of time control,” Ristica said. “We merged with the Time Anomaly Removal Crew to increase our time forces but it’s a fragile time balance.”  
  


“I...have no idea what you just said. “Other than using the word ‘time’ a lot.”  
  


Ristica gave a strained laugh. “You’ll understand when you’re older.”  
  


“Yeah, pretty sure I won’t.”  
  


“There are others seeking control,” Dundgren continued. “Losing Cipher and Time Baby and most of our personnel left a pretty nasty void and there are plenty of time rogues trying to fill it.”  
  


“And you need Blendin to stop them?”  
  


“He’s an asset. A highly irritating asset but one nonetheless.”   
  


“Asset,” Ristica snickered, this time genuine.  
  


Dundgren tried very hard not to laugh for a moment before he spoke again.  
  


“Blendin is one of only two known survivors of our attempt to neutralize Cipher in Gravity Falls.”  
  


“Seeing as we have one of them accounted for already,” Ristica said. “We want to keep the other safe as well. And our dear Blendin doesn’t always make the best choices.”  
  


“That we know,” Dipper said.  
  


“All too well,” Mabel agreed.   
  


Seemingly recovered, Ristica climbed back to her feet, tucking the faulty tape measure time machine into her belt and inadvertently giving Dipper and Mabel a clear view of the other tools strapped to it. There was something that looked like a wallet, what might have been a communication device and the most futuristic pistol either of the twins had ever seen.  
  


Mabel’s eyes widened, but she didn’t say anything.  
  


“You still didn’t explain why you’re in our house,” Dipper said. ‘If it were an accident, it’s an awfully big coincidence that you ended up...here.”  
  


“Not really,” Ristica said.  
  


When even Dundgren looked confused, she added. “Well, it’s a safe time and place and the Pines have connections to us. We were under attack from a time-gang. My tape probably just glitched out and defaulted us right here.”  
  


Dundgren nodded. “I suppose. I mean, these  _ are  _ the Pines twins.”  
  


“One of the Pines twins,” Mabel corrected, hands on her hips inside the fluffy housecoat pockets. “Wait, no...two of...one  _ set  _ of…”  
  


“Dipper and Mabel,” Dipper said.  
  


“You two are well known for your exploits and heroism,” Dundgren said. “You succeeded where our entire time police force failed.”  
  


“Uh, yeah, thanks,” Dipper said. “But defeating... _ him _ was...we had help. Our great uncles…”  
  


“We  _ helped _ , though,” Mabel insisted.  
  


“Actually we mainly screwed things up.”  
  


Ristica snickered.  
  


Dundgren appeared to think for a moment and then nodded. “That may be true but your time and world is safe for the next few years because of your family.”  
  


“But the future…?” Dipper began.  
  


“We’re working on it.”  
  


“We’ve expositioned here long enough, Dundgren,” Ristica said, her voice sounding much less rough, although probably not entirely normal yet. “Blendin was last seen back in our time if my sources are correct, so I say we head back there. But let’s stop in 207̃00 on the way. There’s a few things I want to pick up.”  
  


“Good to see you kids again,” Dundgren said, nodding to Dipper and Mabel. “Though you aren’t really kids anymore. Time flies.”  
  


“Dipper, Mabel,” Ristica said with a nod. She turned to her companion. “Why don’t we use  _ your  _ device this time since it  _ hasn’t  _ been eaten and spat out by a Glorgontuan.”  
  


“Fair enough,” Dundgren said.   
  


He pulled out his own tape measure and stretched it out. Ristica took his arm.  
  


“Let’s time-go.”  
  


There was a flash and then they were gone, leaving Dipper, Mabel and Waddles standing in the kitchen.  
  


For a long time neither of them spoke and Waddles didn’t even offer his customary grunt. In fact, he looked even more confused than the twins, glancing back and forth between them and the spot where the time travelers had been moments ago.  
  


“So, uh,” Dipper said. “How are we going to explain the window to Mom and Dad?”

***

“Mabel,  _ what _ ?”  
  


Mabel was standing in the middle of Dipper’s room and grinning like she’d just created a hit pyrotechnic Broadway musical starring dancing pigs.  
  


“Seriously,” Dipper said. “Tell me.”  
  


They’d returned to Dipper’s room after leaving the kitchen and debating who or what to blame for the broken kitchen window.  
  


Well,  _ Dipper  _ had been debating it. Mabel hadn’t said a word, her hands stuffed ridiculously into her housecoat pockets while she exuded a bizarre smugness and smirked like she knew something nobody else did.  
  


“C’mon Mabes. Spill it.”  
  


Mabel’s grin widened and she pulled from her pocket…  
  


“Ma- _ bel _ ,” Dipper groaned. “Tell me you didn’t...tell me that isn’t…”  
  


“A very battered, very glitchy time machine that I totally didn’t just steal from a time police officer who broke our window?”   
  


Mabel grinned at her brother as she shook the tape measure at him.  
  


“That officer must have a habit of breaking stuff. This thing looks almost as bad as our window. Except maybe a little less shattered all over the floor. Oh, and also…”  
  


From her other pocket, Mabel produced what Dipper at first thought was her driver’s lisence but then, when it was shoved in his face, was revealed to be a photo identification card for one ‘FUTURA RISTICA, TPAES Officer.’  
  


“Mabel what the HELL? You stole her ID card? WHY?!?”  
  


“Blendin Blandin went missing,” Mabel said. “I think we owe it to him and  _ ourselves  _ to find him again. It’s our responsibility.”  
  


“The whereabouts of a  _ time-janitor  _ are not our responsibility, Mabel.”  
  


“Come ON, Dipper. You miss the old adventures! This is our last chance to be kids again and save someone.”  
  


“How weird are our lives that you can actually say that sentence?”  
  


“Dipper, Blendo might be in real trouble somewhere!”  
  


“I understand that,” Dipper said. “But  _ how does a stolen ID card help us _ ?”  
  


“Duh. Stolen ID. THIS officer,” she pointed at the picture on the card. “Probably has all the information we need to find Blerber. She just isn’t doing it right. So I just need to BE her, get the info and then BAM!” Mabel smashed a fist on Dipper’s desk. “We find Blendy.”  
  


“One, there are eight hundred things that could and would go wrong with that plan. Two, give me that!” Dipper snatched the card away from Mabel and held it to his bedside lamp. “Yeah, you look nothing like her.”  
  


“You don’t know that! She’s wearing a flight suit and goggles!”  
  


“Her hair is literally Rapunzel-length. Yours is…” Dipper waved his hands furiously at his shoulders.   
  


“What? I’ll just tell them I had a haircut.”  
  


“Look at the info on here. She’s maybe half an inch taller than you.”  
  


“It’s half an inch, Dipper. Nobody but you and me care.”  
  


“It’s the FUTURE!” Dipper cried. “They probably have height-check booths or lasers that slice your head off if you’re taller than you’re supposed to be? Or DNA checks? What if they have to match your voice?”  
  


“Dipperrrrrrrr….”  
  


Standing thee in the middle of his room, brandishing a ridiculous plan and two stolen items from a time cop, Mabel appeared to Dipper much as she had years ago. She was naturally a bubbly person but he hadn’t seen her THIS happy since she’d gotten the leading role in the high school musical before the exploding stage incident.  
  


Dipper smiled and sighed. “Okay, Mabel. But let’s not do this  _ right now _ . Maybe take a little time to plan before we jump in with both feet.  
  


“All FOUR feet!” Mabel corrected. She looked like she was about to argue but then she relaxed and nodded. “You’re right, Dipper. You plan. I’ll make the costume.”  
  
“Make the… _ what?!?” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter should be up on June 29. Stay tuned


	3. IDENTITY THEFT

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dipper and Mabel take an undercover trip to the future, and discuss philosophy with a computer while attempting to gather information on Blendin Blandin's whereabouts. Robbie takes a walk with Wendy and Scamp, and learns a bit more about the current state of Gravity Falls.

The reds and golds of sunrise were just barely starting to shine through the trees when Wendy stumbled downstairs to make coffee.  
  


“Ugh,” she teased, seeing Robbie sitting on the couch, reading the back of an old VHS case. “You’re still here.”  
  


“Your Dad woke me up. He came in and yelled ‘RISE AND SHINE!’ really loudly. How did you not _hear_ that?”  
  


“I’ve learned to tune him out.”  
  


They drank coffee in companionable silence.  
  


“I should probably make tracks towards my parents’ place. They’re gonna’ be epically surprised. I just talked to them the other night and they have no _idea_ I’m in town now.”  
  


“Oh dude, they’re gonna’ _freak!”_ Wendy said happily. “I gotta’ come with and see this.”  
  


Robbie made a show of offering his arm to Wendy in a most ridiculous manner. “Then let us go, my lady.”  
  


“Oh shut up,” Wendy said, pushing past him and out the door.  
  


They walked down the driveway, laughing so hard it took them a couple of minutes to notice that they were being followed.  
  


A crackling noise caught their attention and they turned around to see the scampfire hurrying after them.  
  


“Seriously?” Robbie said, continuing to walk. “I’m not _that_ interesting, little dude.”  
  


But his newfound fiery shadow continued to follow all the way into town.  
  


At first Robbie was worried that bringing a tagalong anomaly would create a ruckus but, as he and Wendy strolled down the sidewalk through the middle of town, he began to notice something strange.   
  


After what Wendy had told him the day before, it should not have come as a surprise but he still couldn’t help but be struck by it.  
  


“Wendy…?” he said nervously.  
  


“Dude, I know,” Wendy muttered under her breath.  
  


Every single person that they saw was actively avoiding looking at Scamp. If they even glanced in the general vicinity, they quickly averted their eyes. Many began animatedly talking to each other about what a beautiful, _perfectly normal_ Spring this was and what was _Susan_ planning to do for her retirement party, and wasn’t it _nice_ to look forward to Summer.  
  


Others became overly interested in cracks on the sidewalk, a few said hello to Robbie and Wendy with falsely cheerful smiles.  
  


“Dude, this is freaking me out,” Robbie hissed.  
  


“Don’t look at the scampfire, don’t acknowledge the scampfire,” Wendy instructed. “Just face straight ahead and keep walking.”  
  


“But _seriously!_ What is _wrong_ with people? It’s a walking campfire, not an extradimensional tria-”  
  


_“SHHHHH! Stop talking!”  
  
_

_“But… ”  
  
_

“Trust me on this, Robbie.”  
  


They were quiet for a moment.   
  


Then…  
  


“Whoah!”  
  


The two turned towards the sound of the exclamation and saw a black-haired older woman with a video camera, who was talking to a young hooligan in a back alley.  
  


Her mouth was hanging open and she was looking right at Scamp.  
  


Scamp took one look at her and hid behind Robbie’s legs.  
  


“HOLY BUCKETS WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?” The woman cried, hurrying over and trying to videotape Scamp.  
  


“Hey! Don’t scare them!” Robbie cried.  
  


“Why is nobody else noticing this?” the woman exclaimed, ignoring Robbie and chasing Scamp around his legs with the camera.  
  


“‘M sorry, Miss Grabt,” the hooligan said. “There’s things you don’t know about this here town an’ our legal system. If you don’ mind, we can talk a lil’ more in private.”  
  


Both Robbie and Wendy jumped, immediately recognizing the voice, even if they hadn’t recognized the person it belonged to right away.  
  


“Mr. Gleeful,” the woman said. “There’s a walking fireball on the street corner and you want to talk legalities?”  
  


“It’s relevant. An’ please call me…”  
  


 _“Gideon_ _?”_ Robbie and Wendy exclaimed as one.  
  


“Why _hello_ ,” Gideon said, as if only just noticing them.  
  


“Really?” Robbie said, turning to Wendy. “This clown is still here?”  
  


“Oh, no hard feelin’s. What was it, _Robbie_ _?_ We’ve all moved on. Let bygones be bygones and all that. Have you met my new friend, Ivy? She works with the _Ghost Harassers_ crew.”  
  


 _“Ghost Harassers_ _!”_ Wendy cried. “Dude, I love that show! Wait, are you filming here?”  
  


Ivy held a finger to her lips. “Please, let’s keep this on the down low. But yes, we’ve gotten a tip-off that this town is crazy haunted.”  
  


“Well that’s _true…_ ” Wendy said slowly.  
  


“Problem is,” Ivy said conspiratorially . “Nobody wants to talk about it. Except, ah, Gideon here. Which is _weird_ , because in my experience people usually won’t shut up about their supernatural encounters.”  
  


“Yeah, we’re not supposed to talk about it,” Wendy said.  
  


“Apparently.” Ivy looked down at Scamp and then back up again. “I’m sorry, it’s just hard to focus when there’s an animate fire by your shoes.”  
  


“I’ll give ya’ that,” Gideon agreed.   
  


Robbie frowned at him.  
  


Gideon had gotten taller. A lot taller. And unlike a lot of teenage boys (Robbie for instance) he hadn’t turned gangly when growing so much, instead he looked...buff.  
  


“Have you been...working out?” Robbie asked him. “Like, every waking hour?”  
  


“Oh why thank you for noticin’,” Gideon said. “But I do declare, we should all talk sometime when there aren’t people around who’d rather we said nothin’.”  
  


“This is so weird,” muttered Ivy.  
  


Wendy scribbled her number down on a piece of scrap paper and handed it to Ivy.  
  


“I’m in. Oh, and pro tip, Soos and Melody Ramirez at the Mystery Shack. You’ll want to talk to them.”  
  


“Mystery Shack?” Ivy said, pocketing Wendy’s number. “That’s the place with all the corny signs? Looks pretty fake to me.”  
  


“Oh the tourist crap is fake as shit,” Wendy agreed. “But trust me, that place is the real deal.”  
  


Ivy looked both confused and intrigued.  
  


“Right,” she said. “This is actually just a preliminary fact-finding mission to see if this town is even worth investigating. Which…” she glanced at Scamp. “I can say for certain as both a producer and a researcher, _and_ a person with _eyes_ , it absolutely is. So I will be back with Jake and Dave next week.”  
  


“Look,” Gideon said. “Miss Ivy, I’ll meet ya’ on Tuesday night at my Dad’s used car lot. Midnight. We can talk more freely there.”  
  


Ivy nodded. “I’ll round up Jake and Dave. We’ll be there.”  
  


They exchanged a nod and walked in opposite directions.  
  


“Good seein’ y’all two again!” Gideon called over his shoulder at Wendy and Robbie. “Don’ be strangers!”  
  


“You trust that twerp?” Robbie asked as they continued down the street.  
  


“Not a bit,” Wendy said. “Plus, I think he’s on steroids.”  
  


“Yeah, I kinda’ gathered that.”  
  


“But _Ghost Harassers_ , Robbie! Here! In Gravity Falls!”  
  


“That show is lame,” Robbie protested.  
  


“I know! That’s what makes it _so good!”_  
  


It didn’t take them long to reach the Valentino funeral home, which hadn’t changed a bit for as long as anyone could remember.  
  


“Dude, this is gonna’ be awesome,” Wendy said, balling her hands into fists and bracing herself.  
  


“Wendy, we’re here to see my parents, not start a fight,” Robbie said with just the slightest hint of worry in his voice.  
  


“It’s not your parents I’m preparing to fight, it’s all the undead in their yard.”  
  


“Uh, you know they don’t appreciate your picking fights with the undead."  
  


Scamp ran curiously over to a patch of fresh dirt, testing it tentatively with one of their front legs. When a rotting hand burst from the dirt, they jumped back in alarm, flames leaping higher.  
  


“Ah, some things never change,” said Robbie.  
  


“Oh look, there’s your Mom,” Wendy said, elbowing him. “HI MRS. VALENTINO!”  
  


She waved enthusiastically across the yard.  
  


Mrs. Valentino looked up and waved back pleasantly. “Hello, Wendy! How- _ROBBIE_ _?!?”_  
  


She dropped her garden spade and ran across the yard, stomping on a couple of rising skulls in the process.  
  


“Hey Mom,” Robbie said with a smile as his mother pulled him into a surprisingly strong hug.  
  


They were joined moments later by Robbie’s father who was carrying a mug of what Wendy hoped was coffee.  
  


“Son! Why didn’t you _tell_ us you were coming home?” he asked accusingly.  
  


“I wanted it to be a surprise,” Robbie said, carefully extricating himself from his parents, which took several rather acrobatic moves.  
  


“Oh what a _nice_ surprise,” Mrs. Valentino said.  
  


“You definitely get that from your mother,” Mr. Valentino added. “Honey, remember that time you ordered a truckload of champagne instead of embalming fluid. That was a good surprise.”  
  


“Oh yes, I think you owe your existence to that incident, Robert.”  
  


“Ugh! _Mom!_ What even?”  
  


“Well, here’s to truckloads of champagne,” Wendy laughed.  
  


There was a loud _POP_ from near their feet and everyone looked down to see Scamp, who was apparently affronted that they were no longer the center of attention.  
  


“Friend of yours?” Mr. Valentino asked.  
  


“They followed me home,” said Robbie. “Can I keep them?”  
  


Wendy snorted.  
  


“What a fascinating little beastie,” Mrs. Valentino said, kneeling down for a closer look. “Dear, we could really use them in the crematorium.”  
  


“Hey!” Mr. Valentino said, snapping his fingers. “That’s a great idea!”  
  


“In the meantime, I have something I bet they’d like. C’mere, little fire! Follow me!”  
  


“I named them Scamp,” Robbie said.  
  


“It’s called a Scampfire,” Wendy explained.   
  


“Scamp! Scamp!” Mrs. Valentino made a clicking noise and ventured towards an empty fire pit in the yard, which was complete with a grate.  
  


“Mom! Don’t put them behind bars!”  
  


But Scamp seemed pleased with the idea, rushing to it and settling into place, crackling happily.  
  


“Oh, well! He can help us cook lunch!”  
  


“Guess it’s your lucky couple of days to have all your meals cooked over open fires,” Wendy said.  
  


“It’s a lucky day every day when our son is home.”  
  


“Geez, Dad! Stop being so embarrassing!”  
  


“It’s my job, son.”  
  


“I can’t _wait_ to hear all about college,” Mrs. Valentino said. “I bet you have all kinds of interesting stories to tell.”  
  


“Compared to this, it’s pretty boring,” Robbie said.  
  


“Well it’s great seeing you guys,” Wendy said. “But I should probably get home before _my_ dad burns our house down.”  
  


“Oh Wendy dear, no,” Mrs. Valentino said. “Please stay for lunch.”  
  


“We’re going to look through really embarrassing baby photo albums of Robbie,” her husband added.  
  


“ _Dad_ _!”_ Robbie hissed again, but he was smiling.  
  


“Oooh, tempting,” Wendy said, ruffling Robbie’s hair. “But I really don’t want to intrude.”  
  


“Another time then?”  
  


“Sounds good.”  
  


Mr. Valentino handed her a business card.  
  


“Thank you,” Wendy said. “This is really creepy and ominous.”  
  


“Take it as a placeholder for a raincheck.”  
  


Wendy casually saluted them. “Have a good visit you guys. Smell ya’ later, Robbie!”  
  


She turned and walked down the driveway and Robbie stared after her, suddenly feeling a bit sad and nostalgic for something he couldn’t quite place.

***

The next few days in Piedmont passed very slowly and, for once, Dipper felt too distracted to pay attention at school. His mind was racing from his encounter at the Glitch House, and now he kept replaying the bizarre incident from his own kitchen.  
  


He also kept thinking wildly about what he and his sister were planning.  
  


“Mabes,” he hissed as they passed in the hallway between classes. “We gotta’ do this after graduation. I can’t focus!”  
  


“Trust me,” Mabel hissed back. “We do this ASAP or you won’t be able to focus at all.”  
  


“Easy for you to say. You don’t have West Coast Tech breathing down your neck.”  
  


Mabel opened her mouth, probably to argue, but whatever she was going to say was drowned out by the bell ringing.  
  


“Dammit,” Dipper muttered at the irritating buzz.  
  


“I can be ready by tonight,” Mabel said as she hurried off to class.  
  


“ _Tonight ?”_

***

“Do I even want to know where you got all that?” Dipper asked.  
  


A massive amount of leather and cloth was scattered across Mabel’s room, along with about six open craft boxes and a large surger.  
  


“I’ve had most of this since forever,” Mabel said, cutting a pattern.  
  


“The leather is new,” Dipper said. “I didn’t even know you had most of this other stuff, either. Like what?” he picked up a quilt that looked like it was made from a patchwork of nineties CD cover art. “ _I_ _s_ this?”  
  


“My buried hopes and dreams.”  
  


“I’m sorry I asked.”  
  


“It’s all good because my hopes and dreams are _resurrected_ _!_ Today, my broster, I am about to take on the acting role of SEVERAL LIFETIMES!”  
  


“Wasn’t that the name of that Sev’ral Timez tribute band?”  
  


“Aw why? I thought I was being original.”  
  


They laughed quietly and Dipper took a closer look at Mabel’s work. It was, he observed, very precise and intricate. Somehow, amid the scattered chaos of the room itself, a very exact outfit was coming together.  
  


“So you’re making yourself a flight suit?”   
  


“Not the first one I’ve ever made, Dipper.”  
  


“It’s concerning that you can even say that.”  
  


“It has a secret pocket for gummy koalas.”  
  


“Why do you even need that?”  
  


“Well this one is more of an actual flight suit,” Mabel giggled as she sewed, the leather in her hands quickly taking the form of a cap that, truth be told, actually looked quite a bit nicer than the one Futura Ristica had been wearing.  
  


Dipper sat down amongst the scraps. “Are...you going to make one for me?”  
  


Mabel laughed again. “Don’t be silly, I’ll just tell them you’re my visiting cousin or something.”  
  


“ _Mabel_ _!_ We need a plan!”  
  


“This _is_ the plan!”  
  


“This isn’t a plan, Mabel! This is a...a.. _not-plan!”  
  
_

“A not-plan? Oh my god, Dipper.”  
  


Now it was Dipper’s turn to burst out laughing. “Okay, you got me. That sounded really silly. But seriously, we need something to go on…”  
  


“Don’t worry, Dip. Mabel’s got this.”  
  


They continued long into the night.

***

“This is a bad plan.”  
  


Mabel and Dipper were standing in the yard, the cloudy sky slowly growing brighter as dawn approached.  
  


Mabel was fully decked on in her new flight suit. Dipper was dressed normally but had taken it upon himself to wear Wendy’s hat for the first time in years.  
  


“We should at least have taken a day or so to work out the details,” he continued. “There are a lot of variables we haven’t even considered.”  
  


“What, and give you more time to work yourself into a panic-frenzy? Hmmm, would that be a ‘penzy’? Nope, best Mabel plan is to just go!”  
  


“But Mabel!” Dipper protested. “We haven’t even figured out how we’re going _toooooooo…_ _!”_  
  


His voice was drowned out as Mabel pulled the tape on Ristica’s battered device and let it snap back, whisking both of them away and leaving behind a quiet, dimly-lit yard.  
  


It was completely still in the neighborhood. No wind moved the trees and flowers, no birds sang. The only thing out of place was a single peanut, still in its shell, that sat inconspicuously on the driveway.  
  


The front door creaked open and Eleanor Pines walked out into the front yard, looking around worriedly.  
  


She and Palmer had returned from Los Angeles to find a broken kitchen window and two kids who were acting even more distant and distracted that usual.  
  


Palmer followed her outside.  
  


“Did you hear something?” he asked.  
  


Eleanor wore a very pinched expression as she scanned her surroundings.  
  


“Something’s wrong. Really wrong. That broken window? I’m worried about our kids - I think there’s stuff they aren’t telling us.”  
  


“They said the window broke because of that new sport Mabel invented. What was it, Indoor Bowling Ball Bungee Blasting?”  
  


“If it was broken from the inside, why was there glass on the kitchen floor?”  
  


They looked at each other with mirroring expressions of distress.  
  


“I don’t think bowling balls or bungees broke the glass,” Eleanor said. “And if there’s a reason they aren’t telling us the truth, I want to know what it is. Why aren’t they _talking_ to us, Palmer?”  
  


“Don’t know,” Palmer said. “Maybe ‘cause we don’t talk to _them_ and they spend all their time in their rooms looking at textbooks.”  
  


He looked down at the concrete of the driveway.  
  


“Hey, is that a peanut?”

***

The year was 207̃17.  
  


Dipper and Mabel materialized in a dirty city square below a tall building that looked like it had been stricken with some rapid-aging condition that only architecture could contract.  
  


The sky above was filled with sickly-looking clouds that glowed blood red with the sunrise.  
  


“Ugh,” Dipper said. “Piedmont goes to _shit_ in the future.”  
  


“Hmm,” Mabel said. “Red sky in morning, time travelers have a great day!”  
  


“That’s not how it goes,” Dipper said, staring at what had once been a giant billboard or poster featuring the face of Time Baby. It had fallen into disrepair and the words _‘STARWOOD WAS HERE_ ’ had been scrawled in neon purple across the image.  
  


“Oh, right,” Mabel said, adjusting her flight cap and goggles so she was unrecognizable as herself. She took off confidently towards the building, which had a sign over the door reading _‘Time Agency_ ’, and grinned over her shoulder. “Red sky at dawn, whaaaat could go wrong?”  
  


She pushed at the door of the Time Agency and it immediately fell off its hinges and shattered.  
  


“We’ll get somebody to fix it,” Mabel said quickly, and continued onward.  
  


“Uh, yeah. Just going to ignore all this broken glass,” Dipper said, following her into the building.  
  


The interior didn’t look that much better than the outside walls. Paint was peeling and the digital tile that lined the floor was fritzing from one color to another and contained a lot of dead pixels.  
  


In the middle of the atrium was a circular desk, within which sat an officer whose wide eyes had such heavy shadows beneath them that he looked almost raccoon-like.   
  


A hanging sign above the desk read _‘HELP?!?’  
  
_

“Morrrrning officer...Jetlag,” Mabel said, quickly reading his nametag. “Juuuuust checking in. Nothing to see here.”  
  


“Futura Ristica?” Jetlag said, squinting suspiciously, so that his eyes just looked like dark patches on his face.  
  


“That’s _Agent_ Futura Ristica, if you please.”  
  


“Uh, uh, sure, agent. Sorry. It’s just that you and Dundgren just ran out on some early twenty-teens mission.”  
  


“Oh _that_ ,” Mabel said dismissively. “That was actually me from the future. Time travel, am I right?”  
  


Jetlag looked unconvinced.  
  


“Am I right?” Mabel repeated. “Come on, you know I’m right.”  
  


“I...guess?”  
  


“Of course I am!” Mabel pulled from her pocket a _sticker_ , of all things, and slapped it on Jetlag’s nametag. “BWAP!”  
  


Jetlag went cross-eyed trying to look down at it.  
  


“Come on, distant cousin thirty-seven times removed,” Mabel gestured to Dipper and set off in the direction of what looked like some very fancy elevators.  
  


Dipper groaned and pulled his hat lower, refusing to make eye contact with Jetlag. He was certain the security guard was about to pounce and throw them in prison to rot forever, but nothing of the sort happened as he and Mabel made their way to the elevators.  
  


“You do realize we don’t have any idea where we’re going, right?” Dipper said. “We need to somehow obtain the building schematics and blueprints…”  
  


“Just be confident, Dipper. _Act_ like you know what we’re doing and we’ll get there.”  
  


She pressed the yellow ‘up’ arrow and the elevator doors slid open.  
  


“You’d think they’d have invented something more efficient than regular elevators by now,” Dipper muttered as they stepped onboard. “But seriously. We have no idea where to go.”  
  


“Leave it to me,” Mabel said. “Now if I were to have an office, I’d have it on flooooor...FOUR! Because you, me, Grunkle Stan and Grunkle Ford makes four.”  
  


She pressed the button for the fourth floor with great enthusiasm.  
  


“What about Mom and Dad?” Dipper asked as the doors slid closed and the elevator began to rise, along with his anxiety. “And you don’t even know if Ristica _has_ an office.”  
  


“ _Pffft_ ! This is a time agent _office_ building. Of _course_ she has an office.”  
  


The doors opened on the fourth floor, which looked just as derelict as the first.  
  


“You’re right, though,” Mabel said. “It’s just the two of us here, not the four of us. I changed my mind.”  
  


She pressed the button for the second floor.  
  


“Seriously?”  
  


Mabel appeared to think for a moment. “Everything is interconnected though. Isn’t that what science says?”  
  


“Science…? Mabel, you don’t do science. You’re an actress.”  
  


The doors opened on the second floor.  
  


“By your logic,” Dipper continued. “We should just go to the sixth floor because Great Uncle Ford has six fingers.”  
  


“Oh, good point,” Mabel said, practically punching the button for floor six.  
  


 _“Mabel, I wasn’t being serious_ _!”_ Dipper cried, his voice rising an octave as the doors slid closed again.  
  


“Ooops,” said Mabel.  
  


Once more, the elevator rose, although this time Dipper could have sworn it groaned in protest.  
  


“Never mind, we’ll start there anyway.”  
  


The doors opened, revealing a dingy hallway with a floor of chipped hologram tiles similar to those that lined the atrium. Unlike the ones downstairs, however, they weren’t glitching between colors or patterns but instead showed variations of static and white noise.  
  


Dipper stepped quickly out of the elevator before Mabel could come up with some ridiculous reason to take them back to the second floor.  
  


“Right. Now these _do_ look like offices.”  
  


With Mabel by his side, Dipper began looking into various doorways that lined the hall. Like everything else in the building, most of them had obviously once been state-of-the-art. Now they had obviously been put on the back burner in light of current future events.  
  


“The art here is _amazing!”_ Mabel said as they walked down the hall.  
  


She had a point. The wall on the right was wasn’t that interesting except for a large hieroglyphic-looking stone slab hanging next to an ‘EXIT’ placard pointing in the opposite direction of what looked for all the world like spray paint also proclaiming ‘EXIT’. The left wall, however, was taken up by a beautiful and intricate mural.  
  


What exactly it was trying to depict or why it was on the sixth floor of a time agency, Dipper wasn’t entirely sure.  
  


On one end was Time Baby, which made sense considering it had probably been painted during his reign of power. Next to Time Baby were what Dipper assumed was an alien, and then the happiest-looking salamander imaginable. Or maybe it wasn’t a salamander. It had fluffy gills.  
  


Something in Dipper’s head itched with familiarity and he looked away from the painting quickly, removing his glasses and rubbing his eyes.  
  


Further along were images of a winged man with his hand outstretched towards a stampeding bison that had left a patch of trampled humans and possibly aliens in its wake.  
  


“Ugh, what kind of picture is this?” Dipper said.  
  


“Why did they paint a fake elevator just down the hall from a real elevator?” Mabel added. “That’s _my_ question. Why does it have someone hanging upside-down by one foot with their hair on fire?”  
  


Something about the image was making Dipper deeply uneasy.  
  


“Why did they have to paint it so _gory_ ?”  
  


Dipper averted his eyes once again and this time did not look back at the mural beside him. Instead, he focused on where it ended with a swirl of galaxies, stars and other cosmic phenomena surrounding a door to…  
  


“Dipper! I think this is it!”  
  


...a really messy office with a glowing ‘18’ on the door that was obvious even without glasses.  
  


Upon closer inspection, the interior resembled something more along the lines of three offices crammed into one small room. Along the far wall was a desk split by a makeshift book rack with two chairs on either side. By the door was another small desk and chair. One wall was covered with shelves of books, disks and what Dipper could only assume were some other type of digital storage devices.  
  


Mabel sat down in the chair on the left side of the book rack desk and cracked her knuckles, grinning at the computer monitor that lay flat, flush with the desk. She pointed at the placard that read ‘F. Ristica, Special Agent, TPAES.’  
  


“It’s creepy how fast you found this,” Dipper said, squinting, so he could read the placard.  
  


“That’s not creepy,” Mabel retorted. _“_ _T_ _hat’s_ creepy.”  
  


She pointed at a glass case on the next desk, which held…  
  


“Is that a _human_ skull?”  
  


The skull was in several pieces and suspended within the glass case. Dipper sat down in the nearest office chair and put his glasses back on to inspect it.  
  


“Reminds me a bit of the Mystery Shack, though,” Mabel said thoughtfully. “Maybe it’s not so bad.”  
  


“We should do what we came here to do,” Dipper said, tearing his eyes away from the skull’s empty sockets. “You search the papers and whatever’s in the file drawers - why are there even still file drawers this far in the future.” He scratched his head. “Weird. Anyway, you look at those and _I_ will see if I can figure out the computer.”  
  


Mabel tapped the screen on the desk.  
  


“Hey computer! Wake up!”  
  


 _“Welcome to Digi-Tech Office Ninety-Five-Thousand!_ _”_ boomed a loud electronic voice from the desk, as the screen projected a hologram of itself at the perfect angle to be viewed by someone seated in front of it.  
  


“Whoah,” Dipper and Mable said in unison.  
  


The image of an extremely angry-looking Time Baby hovered and flickered in the middle of the screen.   
  


Dipper leaned over Mabel’s shoulder and waved his hand through it. The hologram rippled but did not change.  
  


“Shouldn’t it be touch-screen?”  
  


 _“Welcome to Digi-Tech Office Ninety-Five-Thousand!_ _”_ the voice loudly repeated.  
  


“How can it be touch-screen if you can’t touch it?” Mabel asked.  
  


Dipper tapped at the flat projector on the desk but it only made the hologram of Time Baby jiggle until he looked truly demented.  
  


Mabel waved her hands around as well.  
  


_“Welcome to Digi-Tech Office Ninety-Five-Thousand!”  
  
_

“Yes, we _know_ ,” Dipper muttered.  
  


Mabel moved stacks of papers and objects around on the desk, looking for anything that might help her. Dipper even got out a pen and tried tapping both the hologram and the screen tile projecting it. By now, his own expression was starting to resemble Time Baby’s.  
  


_“Welcome to Digi-Tech Office …”  
  
_

“Oh my _god_ , shut _up!”  
  
_

Abruptly the voice stopped.  
  


Dipper and Mabel looked at each other.  
  


“It’s voice activated,” Dipper said quickly.  
  


“It’s voice activated,” Mabel confirmed. She turned back to the hologram. “Good morning Digi-Tech Office Ninety-Five-Thousand! This is Agent Futura Ristica of the Time Parody Blah-Blah-Blah, requesting login.”  
  


“Mabel,” Dipper began, through gritted teeth.  
  


 _“Welcome Agent Futura Ristica of the Time Parody Blah-Blah-Blah_ _!”_ the computer said. _“_ _Please hit any key to continue.”  
  
_

“But there aren’t any keys!” Mabel protested.  
  


“A!” Dipper said. “Enter! Escape! Control Alt Delete!”  
  


_“I’m sorry, I didn’t quite get that. Please hit any key to continue.”  
  
_

Mabel hurriedly moved aside the papers and objects again, searching for a possible hidden keyboard.  
  


“F-7!” Dipper cried. “Uh...spacebar! X! Y! Z!”  
  


“Computer! Where the keyboard at?” Mabel demanded.  
  


 _“Please hit any key to continue_ _,”_ the computer repeated.  
  


“I have the President’s Key,” Dipper said with a helpless shrug.  
  


“Oh good thought!” Mabel said. “Hit it where the computer can see!”  
  


Dipper had never before admitted that he had not only kept the key given to him by President Quentin Trembley, but he’d gotten into the habit of carrying it with him at all times, even years after the fact.  
  


Over a thousand years after the fact, it now occurred to him.  
  


He produced the key and waved it at the holographic image and tapped it on the desk.  
  


_“Please hit any key to continue.”  
  
_

“Uuuuuugggghhhhh-urrrghhhhhh!” Mabel groaned in frustration.  
  


 _“You’ve chosen the key of G Minor_ _!”_ the computer said. _“_ _Good choice! Thank you for choosing DigiCurity - The Computer Security System Of The Future!”  
  
_

“How is that even remotely secure?” Dipper cried as the image of Time Baby changed to that of Agent Ristica’s Photo ID shot superimposed over the TPAES logo.  
  


_“Welcome back agent! Please confirm your identity by providing the answer to the following question: If change is constant, why is change considered changing?”  
  
_

“The _hell_ _?”_ Mabel asked “Is that a riddle or a physics question?”  
  


“I”m...not sure,” Dipper said. “But...change is constant? And there is constant change? What is it asking?”  
  


“Change...happens?” Mabel suggested.  
  


 _“Answer incorrect_ _,”_ supplied the computer. _“_ _Please try again.”  
  
_

“Okay, okay, give me a minute,” Mabel pressed her palm against her forehead. “Well, does that mean that change _doesn’t_ happen? Ugh, this is supposed to be my _break_ from school. Help me out, Dipper.”  
  


Dipper wondered wildly who on earth would consider breaking into a police database to be a relaxing alternative to highschool, and what on earth was wrong with him and his sister, but decided not to follow that train of thought too far.  
  


“Okay,” he said. “Well...we _perceive_ change. If we’re operating under the assumption that change _doesn’t_ happen, then that leaves us with the _illusion_ of change.”  
  


“Like this!” Mabel waved her hand through the floating computer screen projection. “This is an illusion.”  
  


“That’s not a great metaphor.”  
  


“But it’s an illusion being caused by this!” Mabel tapped the projection tile with a glitter-covered fingernail.  
  


“Which...which…” Dipper was casting about wildly. “Is constantly on the desk? So if change is on the desk and creating the illusion of change up here,” he waved his own hand into the hologram. “I...I...got...Change is constant...change is constant...change is an illusion. Change is a constant that creates the illusion of change around it.”  
  


 _“Answer incorrect_ _,”_ the computer said. _“_ _But you’re getting there.”  
  
_

“This is Einstein-level shit,” Mabel said. “Or maybe it’s just nonsense. Either way, Einstein and nonsense got _nothing_ on this girl! Computer! Would I be correct in saying that the change caused by change isn’t an illusion but just isn’t as... _changey_ as we think?”  
  


 _“Correct_ _,”_ the computer said.  
  


“What?” said Dipper.  
  


_“Well, not correct-correct as in the answer to the question to confirm your identity, but correct in theory.”  
  
_

“Mabel, you broke the computer.”  
  


“Naaaawwwww…” Mabel said. “I’m just making friends with it!”  
  


“But change _does_ happen.”  
  


“But does change _cause_ change?” Mabel asked. “I think that’s what it’s asking. It’s two forms of change. Like pennies and nickels.”  
  


“What are you even saying?”  
  


“There’s change as cause,” Mabel said, setting a nickel on the table.  
  


“And…” Dipper shrugged. “Change as effect?” He pulled a few pennies out of his pocket and stacked them on top of each other. “Are we talking about _this_ kind of change now?”  
  


Mabel grinned and threw the nickel at the tower, causing it to collapse and send pennies scattering across the table. A couple of them slid over the top of the computer screen tile, creating circular holes in the projected image above.  
  


“It’s like you always say, Dips,” Mabel looked at the constellation of coins on the table. “The universe just has a tendency towards disorder. Or maybe that’s just what you say when Mom wants you to clean your room.”  
  


“The penny tower has changed,” Dipper said. “But the catalyst,” he picked up the nickel. “Hasn’t.”  
  


“ _Very good_ ,” said the computer.  
  


“So change as a catalyst causes the effect of change,” Mabel began.  
  


“While itself remaining stagnant or constant in its hypothetical form,” Dipper finished.  
  


 _“Answer correct_ _,”_ said the computer.  
  


“But _is_ it?” Dipper asked. “Did we actually answer the question?”  
  


 _“Unknown_ _,”_ said the computer. _“_ _It is merely the answer that my creator programmed into me. I have no knowledge of its veracity.”  
  
_

“I’m not sure I even _get_ the question,” Mabel said.  
  


Despite their confusion, the attention of the twins was instantly diverted as the image on the projected holographic screen changed from that of Ristica’s face to a sea of icons, none of which made sense.  
  


“Hoo boy,” said Dipper.  
  


Mabel was surprisingly unfazed.  
  


“Computer!” she said. “Show me all files pertaining to the location of Blendin Blandin.”  
  


 _“Searching_ _,”_ the computer said, dozens of images flashing across its screen. _“_ _Okay, here’s what I found.”  
  
_

The words _‘Search yielded 1 (one) result'_ popped onto the screen.  
  


“Only one!” Dipper cried.  
  


 _“All other files have been removed or may be contained on Timedisc 19-4_ _,”_ the computer explained.  
  


“Show us the one result,” Mabel said.  
  


_“Showing one result from...yesterday. At. Five. Forty. Five. PM. Time Baby. Standard. Daylight. Time. Playing audio file.”  
  
_

“Where do we find Timedisc 19-4?” Dipper asked, but his question was soon to be answered as a terrible-quality audio recording from Ristica began to play.  
  


“ _Note to self_ ,” she said, voice tinny like she was speaking into a very cheap microphone. _“_ _The search for Timedisc 19-4 has lead me to one Nathan View. According to the attached document, View was in possession of, or had access to the disc. He is our most likely lead at this time. I suggest proceeding with extreme caution. Although he appears independent, his connections with uprisers are unknown. Indications would put him in enemy camps, but we may be able to sway him to our side. I would advise against any mention of Starwood, Gabriel or Cody until more information can be ascertained. End note_.”  
  


There was static, the flash of an infinity sign on the holograph, and then the screen went back to desktop.  
  


“Huh,” Dipper said.  
  


“I guess we need this Timedisc thingy,” Mabel said.  
  


“Computer. What can you tell us about...what was his name? Nathan?”  
  


“Nathan View,” Mabel said. “Can you show us records on him?”  
  


More flashing holographs, and then the image of a boyish face with a mustache filled the screen.  
  


 _“Nathan View_ ,” the computer supplied. _“_ _Twenty-three. Journalist for self-run newspaper,_ The Future View _. No known affiliations but has expressed distrust of Time Police. Under suspicion for apparently having access to the files of Timedisc 19-4, as indicated in his recent article titled ‘I Have Had Access To The Files Of Timedisc 19-4.’ Resides in the Coffee Shop District. Exact address unknown_.”  
  


“We’re the police!” Mabel cried. “We’re supposed to have everyone’s address!”  
  


 _“Exact addresses of the general population were kept confidential by Time Baby to be divulged on a need-to-know basis. Since Time Baby’s unexpected demise at the hands of Bill Cipher, this information is no longer available. Due to staffing problems resulting from the death of most of the staff, a census of the population has not occurred in recent years or been given priority_.”  
  


“Well that answers that,” Dipper said.  
  


“Right,” said Mabel. “Well I guess we just gotta’ go to this Coffee District place and start looking around.”  
  


“Best lead we’ve got.”  
  


Mabel sat back in Ristica’s chair and frowned at the hovering computer screen.  
  


“What…?” Dipper asked suspiciously.  
  


“This computer system probably has a lot of historical records on it,” Mabel said, her expression unchanged.  
  


“Oh no,” Dipper said under his breath. “I know what you’re thinking and trust me, it’s a bad idea.”  
  


“But Dipper!” Mabel cried. “”If we could just take one quick peek…”  
  


“Mabel, this is the future! We start looking up our own future, we could stop it from even happening or we could see something we wish we hadn’t!”  
  


“But..”  
  


“Oh my gosh, Mabel! Don’t tell me _this_ was your plan?! Were you coming here to find Blendin or to _search for Grunkle Stan and Grunkle Ford?!?”  
  
_

 _“Searching for Grunkle Stan and Grunkle Ford_ _!”_ said the computer.  
  


“No! Stop search, computer!” Dipper put his hands across the hologram.  
  


“Don’t be silly,” Mabel said. “Of _course_ I want to find Blendin…”  
  


“And you _didn’t_ think about trying to find information on our great uncles?”  
  


“Dipper you’re the one who said it. But now that you _mention_ it…”  
  


“Uuuugh! Mabel! They lived a thousand years ago! They’re long _dead_ _!_ For all we know, that could be one of them!” he pointed at the skull on the other desk. “Hell! _We’re_ dead too! That could be _my_ skull!”  
  


“Ah geeeeeeez, Rizzie,” a new voice said. “Could’ja stop bringin’ out-timers in here and freakin’ ‘em out?”  
  


Dipper and Mabel spun around, terrified, to see a giant lobster entering the tiny office space.  
  


“Uhhhh…”  
  


Well, technically it wasn’t fully a lobster. It had a lobster head but its legs and torso looked human, aside from lobster claws instead of hands, and some extra appendages.  
  


“Hey...uh...Bob,” Dipper said, noting the creature’s nametag.  
  


“That’s _Lobster_ -Bob to you!” the lobster man retorted.  
  


“Okay, wow,” Dipper said, flinching back.  
  


 _“Searching Lobster-Bob_ _!”_ the computer said. _“_ _Okay, here’s what I found. Police patrol officer recruited by Time Agency owing to desperation and need to boost staff numbers_ …”  
  


“Computer, shut up!” Dipper said.  
  


Lobster Bob took a seat at the unclaimed desk closest to the door. “What gives, Ristica? Dundgren says you gone and done somethin’ really stupid and the whole crew is havin’ to clean up the mess! Something to do with messin’ up timelines…”  
  


“That information is classified,” Mabel said, lowering both her voice and her goggles.  
  


“Wowza! Your voice sounds kinda’ rough. C’mon! I need _somethin’_ , Riz! I’m bored! So ya can’t tell me how ya’ made a mess. Fine!” Lobster-Bob waved a claw dismissively, forcing Dipper to duck. “What about this View guy? You gonna’ find him and go out with him?”  
  


“What? No! Wait, what?” Mabel said, alarmed. “Is that my reputation?”  
  


Lobster-Bob snorted. “Hardly.”  
  


“Well I hope not,” said Mabel. “I hope I’m not the kind of person who uses _dating_ to gain information. That’s not original or creative.”  
  


“Well he did look kinda’ cute in the holo-pic,” said Lobster-Bob. “But not my kind of hot-lobster-lady type.”  
  


“I guess,” Mabel said thoughtfully, her voice sounding too much like herself for Dipper’s comfort.   
  


Fortunately Lobster-Bob didn’t seem to notice.  
  


“I mean,” he continued. “How longs’it been since that jerkwad kicked ya’ out?”  
  


 _“Hey_ _!”_ Mabel protested. “If there’s a jerkwad around, _I’m_ the one doing the kicking!” She pointed a thumb at her chest.  
  


Lobster-Bob laughed hysterically.  
  


“ANYway,” Dipper said. “We were just leaving.”  
  


“Who _is_ this bossy out-timer? _Seriously_. He’s like a younger version of…”  
  


“He’s from thousands of years ago,” Mabel said hurriedly.  
  


“Oh he _is!”  
  
_

Dipper groaned through his teeth, stepping into the hallway and motioning for Mabel to do the same.  
  


“Yeah,” Mabel continued. “He’s having a really hard time adjusting to the future.”  
  


“The _future_ _!”_ Lobster-Bob laughed again, his claws clacking wildly. “This is the _present_ , or didja’ forget again.”  
  


Mabel pointed at Dipper. “Yeah. Well it’s the future for him. He doesn’t know about _so many things!”  
  
_

“ _Guys_ _!”_ Dipper hissed.  
  


“He doesn’t even know how to get to the Coffee District!” Mabel cried in what sounded like genuine disdain.  
  


“Oh the Coffee Shop District,” Lobster-Bob chuckled. “Oh yah! That’sa’ _great_ start point! Hey, out-timer! Piece a’ advice! Take the _orange_ hoverbus and rent a Guide!”  
  


“Cool,” Dipper said. “Agent Ristica? Shall we?”  
  


“As good a time as any,” Mabel stood and bowed to Lobster-Bob. “I hope you have a wonderful day!”  
  


“Thank you,” Lobster-Bob said thickly.  
  


Dipper made a point of _not_ looking at the murals on the wall as they made their way back down the hallway.  
  


When the elevator doors slid closed, both he and Mabel breathed a sigh of relief.  
  


“Wow!” Mabel laughed. “That was a close one!”  
  


“Okay, I can’t believe I’m saying this,” Dipper said. “But that was genius! You getting directions from the lobster, I mean.”  
  


“Don’t act so surprised,” Mabel said, draping an arm over Dipper’s shoulder. “I’m pretty damn good at getting what I want.”  
  


“Can’t argue with that.”  
  


They shared another good laugh as the elevator came to a halt on the first floor.  
  


Mabel refused to make eye contact, even through her goggles, with Jetlag as they strode across the atrium and out the door, which was still of its hinges.  
  


“Wow, I feel like we just pulled off something from _Pony Heist!”  
  
_

“Agreed,” said Dipper. “But let’s just get the Timedisc, find Blendin and go home. Why is it so _dark_ _?_ I thought it was morning?”  
  


He frowned at the sky.  
  


“It _was_ morning,” Mabel said. “The clouds were glowing.”  
  


“Yeah, well I think the sun went back to bed.”  
  


The only steady light on the square seemed to be coming from behind them and was faintly red.  
  


Mabel turned her head to look for the source.  
  


“Huh. Was that statue always there?”  
  


Dipper followed her gaze.  
  


“Okay, that’s not creepy at all.”  
  


Standing just to the left of the time agency doorway was a massive and pissed-off-looking stone horse. It was blue, rearing on its hind legs and the red light was emanating from its eye sockets.  
  


“It’s like Babe The Blue Ox,” Dipper said, not really daring to venture closer, yet leaning forward inquisitively.   
  


“Yeah,” Mabel said. “Except it’s a horse.”  
  


“Babe The Blue Horse doesn’t really have the same ring to it, though. What is this? Why is it here? Where did it come from?”  
  


“Same place all statues come from! Graveyards! No, wait. I’m thinking of headstones.”  
  


She grinned at Dipper and he turned away from the ominous-looking horse and tried to scratch his head through his hat.  
  


“I can’t tell if you’re being serious.”  
  


“Heyyyyyy! Orange hoverbus!” Mabel called “Where you at?”  
  


The square and surrounding streets were dark and empty except for one or two other people, who were staying well away.  
  


At least, these were the only people Dipper and Mabel could see.  
  


If they head looked up to the top of a nearby abandoned skyscraper that once held the image of Time Baby’s face, they might or might not have seen the figure crouched there. Like any self-respecting suspicious stranger, he wore a hat that cast dark shadows across his face, making him difficult to identify. He had an eye patch and a beard but, beyond that, he was shrouded.   
  


The man peered intently down at the twins, who were making their way hurriedly down the street, hooking his arms around his knees, just above tall and strangely-pointed leather boots.  
  


An obnoxious whine filled the air as it did on the hour almost every hour these days. The sound, as the man well knew, signaled the arrival of the hoverbuses.  
  


A stream of dingy-colored floating crafts filled the street, landing at specified points all along it.  
  


The stranger watched as Dipper and Mabel waved their arms wildly to flag down an orange one, Mabel brandishing a small card and yelling something that couldn’t quite be heard from the rooftops.  
  


After some animated discussion, the two boarded the bus and the man on the rooftop watched as it levitated and disappeared down the street towards another part of the city.


	4. VIEW-FINDER

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wendy takes a trip down memory lane and visits with old friends. Dipper and Mabel take a trip to a coffee shop in the future and befriend a cyborg.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are on tumblr, I have a blog dedicated to 'Riftlash' with chapter updates, author's notes and adjacent aesthetics: riftlash.tumblr.com

Robbie didn’t know it, but Wendy was experiencing much the same feelings of nostalgia and being at loose ends, not quite wanting to live in the past but not really knowing how to go about moving forward either.

The visit with her old friend had briefly put her back years ago, when she thought she knew everything and life in her strange little town had been fun and exciting and full of promise.

It wasn’t that it was _bad_ now, it just felt strangely unfamiliar and, truth be told, Wendy was very lonely.

She’d been wandering about, not wanting to go bother Robbie because he probably had things to do and she didn’t want him to feel like she was crowding him when he had just returned to Gravity Falls.

It took her longer than it should have to realize that her seemingly casual steps were taking her directly to the Mystery Shack.

It was a path she hadn’t taken in a long time and her slight guilt about this had only served to keep her away even more.

In fact, she was about to turn around and head back towards home, when she looked at the crooked, handpainted sign on a nearby tree that read ‘ASTOUNDING MYSTERIES AHEAD! SELECT REFUNDS’, and felt a smile grow across her face.

“‘Kay, Corduroy, let’s do this.”

She couldn’t help the cliche warm and fuzzy feeling that swept over her as she walked into the clearing and saw the Mystery Shack, as bizarre and unkempt-looking as always.

A tour group was crowding back into a van next to a familiar golf cart, which was being munched on by an equally-familiar goat.

The totem pole in the yard seemed to be observing Wendy approvingly.

“Nothing like _not_ working somewhere to make it feel more welcoming,” she said, giving the pole a nod.

She walked up the stairs and pushed open the door to the gift shop.

“Knock-knock, bitches!”

Soos and Melody were standing at the register, apparently having a discussion about something on Melody’s cell phone. It sounded heated but Wendy couldn’t imagine it was a genuine argument.

Soos’ face broke into a boyish grin of pure delight when he looked up and saw who was standing in the doorway.

“WENDY!” he cried, climbing over the counter and pulling her into an extremely tight hug.

“Ooof! Soos!” Wendy protested, feeling her feet leave the ground.

“I’m sorry, Wendy,” he said, setting her back down. “It’s just been a long time, dawg.”

“Yeah,” Wendy admitted sheepishly. “A bit too long. I kinda’ feel bad about that.”

“You’re just in time for mimosas,” Melody said, walking around the counter and giving Wendy a much gentler hug. 

“Whoah. You drinking on the job now?”

“We’re celebrating,” Melody said. “The Shack just got featured in Humfood’s list of,” she made air quotes with her fingers. “Top 20 Corny Tourist Attractions You Can’t Miss If You Want To Question Your Life Choices.”

“Sharing pages with Wall Drug,” Soos said, wiping away a tear. “It is the dream.”

“Oh man, that’s awesome,” Wendy said.

Melody handed her a drink.

“I...uh,” she took a sip. “You know I’m not twenty-one yet, right?”

“Oh we know,” Melody laughed. 

“And I consider it an honor,” Soos said. “And part of my duty to carry on in the tradition of the original Mr. Mystery himself.”

He pointed to a bumper sticker on the wall that bore four bright letters.

“WWSD,” Soos read. “What Would Stan Do?”

“Nice,” said Wendy. “So what else is new in Shack-ville? Aside from the Humfood notoriety, I mean.”

“Oh you know, same old same old,” Soos said. “As long as we make sure all the attractions are super-super fake, everyone’s happy.”

“I wonder how the Never Mind All That Act’ll affect the Great Gabriel though,” Melody said. “Some of his acts look pretty real. I’ve been looking at videos on MeScreen.”

“The Great Gabriel?” Wendy asked. “What, the traveling magician dude?”

“Yeah,” Melody said. “Haven’t you heard? He’s coming to Gravity Falls.”

“Really?”

“Dude, do you live under a rock or something now?” Soos asked.

“I guess I kind of keep myself to myself these days,” Wendy admitted, wrinkling her nose and taking another drink. 

“Well you need to stop doing that,” Soos said. “We should all go see the Great Gabriel. His shows are really, well, _great_!”

“No shit?” Wendy lifted herself up to sit on the counter and sighed with the familiarity. 

The gift shop, aside from one or two new items, was much the same as it had been when Stan was running the place - Soos had seen to that. It had been Melody’s idea to include sales of sandwich meat, which had done surprisingly well.

Wendy glanced past the meat cooler to the vending machine. She’d never asked whether Soos had left Ford’s underground laboratory and study alone. She imagined there was still a lot he had left behind there, despite everything he’d purged and burned before setting off to sail the world with Stan.

“Wendy, you look like you’re trying to burn a hole through the vending machine with your laser eyes,” Soos giggled. “Or you would, if you actually had laser eyes. You... _don’t_ have laser eyes do you?”

“Soos…”

“Oh my gosh, Wendy. Did you develop a sudden preternatural ability? Is that why you are at this place of mystery?”

“Soos! _Soos!_ I don’t have laser eyes.”

“Oh,” Soos sounded mildly disappointed. 

“Well, what does bring you back here?” Melody asked. “Since our Humfood mention is obviously news to you.”

“Well,” Wendy said. “Robbie is back in town.”

“What?” Soos frowned. “Your wormy ex-boyfriend?”

“Hey! He was a dick teenage boy, not gonna’ lie. But he’s actually a decent guy now.”

“He did seem less of a jerk after Weirdmageddon,” Soos admitted.

“You mean after The Thing That Didn’t Happen And So We Never Speak Of?” Wendy asked, amused, as she took another sip of her drink. “Never Mind All That Act?”

“Pffft!” Melody said. “It’s just us in here. I can say a lot of illegal things openly. You’re underage, drinking alcohol and talking about the time a screaming triangle destroyed the town.”

“Well, when you put it like that…” Wendy tipped up her glass and downed the rest of the drink.

“Melody, you weren’t there,” Soos said. “There are reasons people don’t talk about it.”

He laughed nervously.

“Ugh!” Wendy coughed. “Okay, note to self. Do not slam champagne.”

Melody took the glass from her. “So how _is_ your ex-boyfriend?”

Wendy shrugged. “Good, I guess. He just got into town a few days ago and, seeing him...I realized…”

“Realized that he really was the man of your dreams?”

“Ew, Soos! No! I mean, I don’t know. I always liked him but that’s not it. Not the point. I just started thinking about how it was back before Weirdmageddon, you know?”

“Don’t you mean The Event We Must Not Acknowledge Of Speak Of?” Soos teased.

“Oh shut up.”

“Though we all kind of took the apocalypse and kicked its ass, if I do say so myself.”

“It was just kind of a great Summer,” Wendy said. “I was fifteen. This town used to be _boring_ and then the twins showed up and made life _interesting!_ Is it bad that I miss that?”

“Oh man, I know how you feel,” Soos said. “Don’t get me wrong, I wear the title of Mr. Mystery with pride. But, try as I might, I can never hope to live up to the greatness of my predecessor.”

Soos put a solemn hand over his heart.

“I wish I’d gotten more time to talk to him,” Melody said.

“Mr. Pines is an amazing man,” Soos said.

“Yeah,” Wendy admitted. “Sometimes I miss the old codger too. And by sometimes I mean, like, all the time.”

“Did I ever show you the pictures he sent from the Baltic Sea?” Soos asked.

“Yeah...I think so?” said Wendy. “That was a couple of years ago, wasn’t it? Didn’t he find pieces of something?”

Soos pulled an envelope out from under the sandwich meat cooler and handed it to Wendy. She had indeed seen the contents before but it still made her smile to see the ridiculous selfie that Stan had taken from onboard the _Stan-O-War II_. 

He had a huge grin on his face and a bandanna tied around his head. In the background, Ford was visible leaning over the rail of the boat, glowering at a mechanical object as if it were malfunctioning and, by doing so, personally insulting him.

The other pictures showed the ocean from the deck of the boat, Ford in scuba gear, Stan with a bizarre taxidermy fish that might or might not have been a legitimate anomaly and not an aquatic cousin of the jackalope. 

A note accompanied the photographs and read:

_Hey Soos and Mel,_

_Greetings from Stockholm. My days of running a metal detector in New Jersey finally came in handy, though Poindexter won’t admit it! We managed to track down and destroy some dangerous wreckage on the ocean floor. Supposedly some earlier defective version of the portal thing._

_Next time we’re going after actual treasure, not some boring nerd junk. I have a lead on a sunken pirate ship, so heading there next if I can convince you-know-who to agree to doing something fun for once._

_Take care of yourself and tell everyone hello._

_You better not have messed up the Shack._

_Stan_

Wendy felt herself smiling as she read the letter.

“This was a while back,” she said. “No more recent word?”

“Oh the occasional postcard here and there,” Soos said. “Less and less, as time continues on its infinite and mysterious trail. But that’s to be expected. I remember when my cousin Reggie left home. He used to call twice a day. Now he hardly ever calls.”

This didn’t make Wendy feel that much better. It was just another reminder of the fact that she was getting further and further away from a time, and from people who had once played an important role in her life.

It made her sad to think that Soos virtually never heard from Stan anymore.

Melody sighed and collected the pictures and letter, placing them back in the envelope, saying “I’m sure we’ll hear something from them before too long. It’s been what? Four years? About time for a reunion if you ask me."

“Yes!” Soos cried enthusiastically. “We’ll throw a party for the whole town and invite the kids up!” 

He stroked his chin thoughtfully.

“Now we just need to figure out how to contact the Stans.”

“There’s always black magic,” Melody suggested.

“Probably not a good idea,” Soos said.

“Though it’d make things a little more interesting,” Wendy pointed out.

“The champagne says do it,” Melody giggled.

“Never trust the champagne,” Soos said. He looked at the bottle suspiciously. “I’m watching you.”

Wendy cackled.

“Oh, speaking of watching things! I saw that filmographer producer lady from the Used To Be About History Channel in town. I think the _Ghost Harassers_ might be filming a special on Gravity Falls. And I miiiiiight have told her to contact you.”

“Oh dude!” Soos said. “Oh man, the Ghost Harassers? Here? I’ve been waiting for this moment ever since their documentary premiered at OrbCon.”

“Ooooh, that was a long time ago,” Melody said. “What was it? Like twelve years ago?”

“I remember it like it was yesterday.”

“Well you know what they say, time flies…”

***

“I see why they call it the Coffee Shop District,” Dipper said.

Every shop on the block was not only a coffee shop, they were all the _same_ coffee shop.

“Wow,” Mabel said. “A bazillion years in the future and Incandescent-Gas-Mass-Dollars is still around.”

“And even more monopolizing than normal,” Dipper said in awe. “Forget the time police, why isn’t IGMD governing the future?”

“Okay. Where to start…”

“How about at a coffee shop.”

“Very funny, Dipper. Now if _I_ were a time agent who got kicked out of a relationship with a jerk and was dealing with a lobsterman officemate and decided to visit the Coffee District, where would I go...hmmmm…”

“We don’t know if Agent Ristica even frequents here,” Dipper said.

“I think that one,” Mabel pointed to an IGMD with lower windows than the others.

Her eyes lit up as they approached the coffee shop in question and the clear doors in front of them rippled and a patron walked through.

“Cooooool! Flexi-glass!”

Mabel reached out a hand and ran it along the barrier, which moved and felt like water but still looked like glass.

“This is amazing,” Dipper said, extending his own hand to follow suit. “The scientific principle for this is...is…”

“The _Fun_ Principle!” Mabel said, running her hands up and down the material. “How come the time agency doesn’t have cool doors like this. I wouldn’t have broken them!”

“Eeesh! Are you high?” an electronic voice screeched from behind them. “Stop playing with the door. MOVE!”

Dipper and Mabel were pushed roughly aside by a rusty android that was wearing an overlarge t-shirt. It walked through the flexi-glass door with a _schllooop!_ Sound.

“Wow. Rude,” Mabel said.

“What does a robot need with coffee?” Dipper asked.

“Let’s find out,” Mabel said, looking at the glass with determination and then stepping forward. It rippled around her as she passed through.

“Cool,” Dipper said, and followed.

The material felt like liquid but did not leave any residue, nor did it make him feel like he was suffocating - a prospect that had caused him some slight trepidation upon first seeing the door.

Entering the building, he was hit by the intense smell of coffee and baked goods, as well as something tangier and metallic.

“Whoah,” he said. “Look at this place.”

If most of future Piedmont was in disrepair and bordering on anarchy, Incandescent-Gas-Mass-Dollars (or at least _this_ particular Incandescent-Gas-Mass-Dollars) was doing pretty darn well. It was clean, cheerful and full of all manner of people, robots and beings unknown to Dipper. Tubes of neon lights and glowing bricks placed sporadically along the walls created a surprisingly festive atmosphere.

“Can I pick coffee shops or _can I pick coffee shops!”_ Mabel crowed, turning to face Dipper with a huge grin. 

A hologram flared to life on the ceiling.

_Welcome to IGMD 181 4th St. This particular ancient retro branch has been formulated by experts to reflect the primitive social gatherings of the late nineteen-hundreds._

“They got it... _kind_ of right,” Dipper said. 

“Weird,” Mabel said. “It’s like being in a Renaissance Fair, only of our time.”

“FUTURAAAAAAAAAA!” a mechanical voice called from behind the counter.

“That’s you,” Dipper muttered, elbowing Mabel in the ribs.

“I _know_ _,”_ Mabel hissed back, and hurried towards the counter. “Hey you!”

The mechanical voice had come from what Dipper thought might just be an actual cyborg. It had a floating metal torso and a face that seemed half-mechanical, half organic. The left half was a grinning, glowing metal skull but the right had a skin-like material stretched across it.

“How she go?” the cyborg ground out. “The usual?”

“Make it a large,” Mabel said. She stared at the skin side of the robot’s face. “I _love_ your makeup scheme.”

“Aw thanks! I’ve had some work done. What do you think?”

“I think you look great!”

The cyborg glowed. Literally. Even their skin flushed a deep pink.

Mabel looked for some sort of identification. Unfortunately the cyborg was not wearing a nametag.

“Can you put it on my account?” she asked as her mechanical barista began mixing up what Mabel hoped was a fancy coffee drink of some kind.

“Oh geez! _You_ don’t need to pay me. You know that, Futura.”

“But I hate to make you work for free.”

“Hah! I’m working for a friend, not for free. So what’s up? You’re not usually here this early.”

“What if I told you I was actually here on work business?”

“Yah, it wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Actually, maybe you can help me.”

The cyborg glanced at Mabel with creepily human-looking eyes as they sprayed an ungodly amount of whipped cream on top of the coffee drink.

Mabel took this as an invitation to continue. 

“I was wondering if you might could put me in touch with a guy named Nathan View.”

“What, the tabloid reporter?” the cyborg frowned. “Sorry, girl. I know who you’re talking about but I’ve never met him. I can check with the network but I’m guessing he’s not a regular.”

They handed Mabel a warm mug of frothy, mocha-smelling liquid. Mabel took a sip and raised her eyebrows.

“Holy _crap_ , this is amazing! Even stronger than Mabel Juice and that’s _saying_ something.”

“It has five extra shots in it,” the cyborg said.

“Yes! I _like_ it!”

“Hi, um, _Risticia,”_ Dipper approached the counter. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?”

“Huh?” the cyborg said.

“He’s working with me,” Mabel explained.

“I’m...uh, agent Pines,” Dipper continued, looking a little panicked and immediately regretting letting his actual name slip. “And you are…?”

“Rachel-John,” the cyborg said, extending a hand, which Dipper did not take. “Nice to make your acquaintance.”

“Likewise,” said Dipper.

“Rachel-John,” Mabel said. “My sources tell me that Nathan View is from this district.”

“He may be,” Rachel-John said, turning back to her. “But I’ve never seen him in here. You’re probably best hiring a Guide.”

“A Guide?”

“Wasn’t that what the lobster guy said?” Dipper asked.

“Guides can be intercepted and tracked of course,” Rachel-John continued. “My batch-mate once hacked one successfully in Detroit. But the Coffee Shop District hasn’t had many incidents lately. We’re practically the safest region of the city.”

“How _is_ this district doing so well?” Dipper asked.

Rachel-John looked uncomfortable, as much as a vaguely-expressive cyborg could. “I think you can probably guess,” they looked at Mabel. “We...don’t...talk about that.”

“Eh?”

But Mabel suddenly seemed to understand.

“The Coffee Shop District is under jurisdiction of one of the uprisers!”

“Shhhhh!” Rachel-John actually looked panicked. “We don’t actually _know_ that! _You_ don’t know that and everyone in the district certainly doesn’t know that! We’re supposed to be neutral ground!”

“But you suspect…” Dipper began.

“We pay a Patron,” Rachel-John spread their perfectly-human-looking hands. “And so far the sky hasn’t fallen. As the ancients said...gift horse...mouth.”

“Wow,” Dipper said quietly. “Coffee shop mafia.”

“Okay, okay,” Mabel said. “I didn’t mean to bring it up.”

Rachel-John looked truly unhappy about the conversation.

“So,” Mabel continued brightly. “How are things in your workplace.”

“Ugh, could be better, honestly. I just lost two baristas who said they saw _ghosts_ in the break room.”

Dipper looked intrigued and Rachel-John glared at him.

“There’re no ghosts!” they snapped. “I’m equipped with Ecto-Tector version eight and I’ve scanned the place. No ghosts. Now, excuse me. I have to go...replace my oil.”

They quickly retreated into the back of the shop.

“Wow,” said Dipper. “That...could have gone better.”

He and Mabel made their way to a tall table by the window. She sat down, tore her goggles off and threw them on the table.

“Mabel? Are you alright?”

“I think I just ruined a friendship.”

“What? You mean Rachel-John and Ristica?”

“How was I supposed to know there was some unspoken rule not to mention that this place might be governed by the enemy.”

“ _Might_ be? Mabes, if the uprisers were taking care of this district, they wouldn’t have time to actually be uprising! I think the robot is right - it probably _is_ neutral ground!”

“But next time Ristica comes here for real, Rachel-John is gonna’ be all weird and distant and she’s not gonna’ know why and it’s my fault! I have to fix this!”

“That’s not a great plan,” Dipper reached across the table to grab Mabel’s mug and take a sip. “Holy _sugar!_ Yikes, what’s _in_ this?” he handed it back. “It’s not your place to fix anything.”

“It is if it’s something I broke.”

“Yes, but you are _not_ Agent Futura Ristica. You can’t fool everyone forever. If you keep pressing your luck, someone is bound to find out the truth and we’re going to go to time-jail.”

“I bet we could break out.”

“That’s beside the point! We’re here to find Blardin or whatever his name is, remember? You don’t need to worry about things between Ristica and Rachel-John!”

“Dipper, this is _me_ , remember? Don’t go underestimating the Mabel!”

She slid off the chair and walked quickly back to the counter where Rachel-John had just re-emerged.

“Oh no,” Dipper muttered, but did not go after her. 

Over the years, he had learned there was a time to intervene with Mabel’s schemes and ideas and a time not to. He hoped for everyone’s sake that this was one of the latter times.

Outside, odd-colored rain had begun to fall. The color was all wrong and, for one horrified moment, Dipper thought it was raining blood. 

When he inspected the water droplets on the outside of the glass, however, he could tell that the dark color was actually caused by some sort of particles - probably from smoke or other pollution.

Those walking (or hovering!) outside appeared unfazed. Some had deflector shields they held above their heads, others wore garments that deflected the water a few inches from the surface of the wearer.

Distantly, Dipper wondered how much something like that would cost and how exactly currency worked in the future - especially a future with so little structure.

He looked down at the table and realized.

“Oh _shit_ _!”_

Mabel’s goggles were still lying there.

He grabbed them and ran across the shop, drawing a few perplexed and annoyed looks, and skidded to a stop at the counter.

“And of course they like _humans!”_ Rachel-John was wailing. “And I’m just some cyborg barista like every other cyborg barista, except I have a crappier face!”

Wait, what?

Mabel had her arm around the cyborg’s torso and was trying very hard to comfort her.

“That’s awful, Rachel-John.”

“Not even gonna’ ask,” Dipper said. “Um, Ristica. You...uh, forgot these.”

He held out the goggles.

“Oh, thanks!”

Mabel put them on her head. “I guess it’s time we rent a Guide.”

“I’ll call one in,” Rachel-John said.

***

“ _Thank you for choosing Digi-Guide! The location and communication device of the future, powered by Digi-Tech!”_

“Oh god,” Dipper said. “It sounds just like the computer at the Time Agency."

The Guide, as it was called, was an unnervingly-tall humanoid robot with what looked like an old computer monitor for a head.

“You’re welcome Digi-Guide,” Mabel began.

“ _Just plain Guide will suffice_.”

“Right. I was wondering if you could deliver a message to Nathan View for me. I understand he lives in the Coffee District.”

“ _If I cannot do so personally, there are over eighty-five compatible Guides in the district! One of us will locate him and deliver your message_.”

“I suppose there’s no way you can just take us to him?”

“ _No, as you have undoubtedly been told, our programming demands strict confidentiality_.”

“But we’re the _police._ ”

“ _Only Time Baby has the authority to order divulgence of personal information via a thundering squeal of delight_.”

“But Time Baby was destroyed! He can’t give any kind of squeal of delight.”

“ _Then the fault in our programming was an oversight that did not take into account the possibility of his demise. I’m sorry, but we can only deliver your message, not Nathan View’s physical location_.”

“Alright,” Mabel said. “Defeat admitted.”

“ _Would you like to record your message now?”_

“Yes please, Mr. Guide.”

 _"It_ _’s just Guide. Aaaaaaaaand! Recording!”_

The screen that was the Guide’s head flickered and then showed an image of the video it was capturing of Mabel’s face.

Mabel adjusted her goggles so there was no identifying her and spoke.

“Greetings Mr. View. You don’t know me but my name is Futura Ristica and I work for the Time Paradox Avoidance Enforcement Squadron. Don’t worry, you’re not under arrest.

“Actually, this is more of a personal call. I am searching for a friend who has apparently vanished. I have reason to believe there is information regarding his whereabouts on Timedisc 19-4. I know from your writings that you have had access to the disc and wondered if we might discuss its content.

“Again, this would be _totally_ off-record and I am not interested in bringing any kind of official police business to the table.”

Mabel shocked Dipper by removing her goggles and staring intently into the Guide’s camera.

“I know you may not have a high opinion of the TPAES. In some cases, your concern might be warranted. But please know that I hold the future, humanity and you in the highest regard. Thank you. I look forward to your response and contact.”

“ _End recording_ ,” the Guide said. 

Mabel replaced her goggles.

“ _I will deliver your message via the Guide time-network_.”

The Guide shut down and a stream of stars appeared on the head-monitor screen.

“Well,” Mabel said. “There goes my plan of just _following_ the Guide to Nathan View.”

“Mabel,” Dipper said, staring at his sister in a kind of confused awe. “What the hell was that? ‘I hold you in high esteem’? That doesn’t even sound like you!”

“Uh... _acting?”_ Mabel said. “I was really good at it, remember? I was going to go to acting school.”

“Until you accidentally blew up the stage.”

“What _ever!_ We both know I can successfully play any part.”

“You sounded like a politician.

“Come on, Dipper. We both took public speaking. _I_ just didn’t suck at it.”

They stood in silence on the street, staring at the sleeping Guide.

“I don’t get why they call it a Guide,” Mabel said. “It’s more a glorified email network.”

Dipper didn’t speak for a minute.

Then…

“So what do we do now?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, we can’t stay here. If this is anything like email, this Nathan guy could take days to respond - if he does at all. And I don’t know about _you_ , but I’ve got some schoolwork with my name on it and a visit from West Coast Tech to freak out about.”

“Ah. Yes. The college guys.”

Mabel’s voice had taken on an odd tone that Dipper couldn’t quite interpret. He tried to gauge her expression but, of course, it was hidden behind her Agent Futura Ristica costume.

“We’ll come back here later,” Dipper said decisively. “But for now...let’s go home. I’m hungry and I’m pretty sure Mom bought frozen pizzas.”

***

It was a gray and rainy day in Vancouver.

Out of the fog, a theater loomed, looking like any other. Tall, windowless walls welcomed viewers with lit posters of the films currently being shown. 

This, again, was normal for a theater, and was not of great significance. 

It wasn’t the posters or the walls that made this theater worth mentioning, it was the man standing inside with a dazed and almost delirious look on his face.

As the rain cascaded off the roof outside, he smiled widely up at the ceiling as if he understood everything.

After a few minutes, one of the young men in the ticket booth walked out and approached him.

“Excuse me, are you okay?”

The strange man looked startled and turned to face the newcomer, tilting his head to the side and regarding him behind a fringe of soaking wet hair. He smiled but didn’t speak.

The theater employee seemed unnerved.

“Are you okay?” he repeated.

“Ah, no,” the stranger said slowly. “I mean...I’m happy. I think...the universe just ripped into existence. I saw it. I mean, I wasn’t there. But I feel it. In my head. The skies. All of creation. And the inevitable death of it all. No, no, noooo...death isn’t a strong enough word.”

“Um…” the ticket man took a step back, quickly regretting his decision to speak to this person at all. “Sir? Sir, you need to leave.”

“Leave? _Leave_ _?_ But my work has only just begun, little boy! Look around you! Don’t you see the implosion? Don’t you _see_ it?”

“Seriously, if you don’t leave right now, we’re going to have to call the police.”

“The police are irrelevant compared to what and whom I serve.”

“Dude, there’s a church down the road. You can take your sermon there.”

“Don’t be so limited with your vision! A church? Pshaw! I took a walk into the woods and I met infinity. And I must _share it!”_

He lunged, and the ticket-taker tried to jump back moments too slow. The stranger’s hands were already around his neck, cutting off his oxygen and feeling much, much hotter than a human’s hands should.

He clawed at the hands at his throat but they didn’t budge, their owner staring at him, the whites of his eyes bloodshot.

“I am here,” he said. “To _destroy !”_


	5. ESCALATION AND ESPIONAGE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Piedmont, Dipper finds some clickbait on his computer, Mabel orchestrates a meeting with a journalist in the future, and their mother has a Very Bad trip to the grocery store. Meanwhile, in Gravity Falls, Gideon has a midnight meeting with the 'Ghost Harassers' crew and tells them some worrying things. Robbie and Wendy spy on the meeting, Tambry joins via facetime chat, and it seems they aren't the only ones eavesdropping. 
> 
> Also, someone broke a bottle of orange juice.

The day that Eleanor Pines lost her mind began like any other day, only with a bit more shouting about who spilled the orange juice.

“Who spilled the damn orange juice?!?” she cried, pointing to the explosion of juice on the kitchen floor. “Palmer! Did you throw this? Is anybody _here?”_

Palmer walked into the kitchen and surveyed the fallen bottle that had exploded all over the tile.

“Why would I smash the orange juice and not clean it up?” he protested.

“Well someone did. _Dipper?!?”_

“I haven’t _been_ in the kitchen, Mom!”

Dipper was in the living room, on his laptop, obsessively checking the _Ghost Harassers_ Chirp account, which hadn’t been updated since before the investigation of the Glitch House.

He felt like he’d lost some respect for the Harassers after their comments about Ford, but he still checked for news out of habit. Not to mention, part of him was curious to see how much of his contribution to the investigation made it into the upcoming episode.

So far there had been no news, so Dipper broadened his search for anything related to the paranormal. A headline caught his attention.

 _“‘Did spontaneous combustion cause fire that burned down theater_ _?’”_ he read aloud. _“‘_ _ _Conspiracy MeScreener_ says yes’._ Ugh, that’s clickbait designed to bait _me_. Fiiiiine.”

He clicked the link and instantly about seventy pop-up ads, some of which weren’t actually for porn, filled his computer screen. Once he had exited them all enough to see the screen, he found an “article” about a fire in a Vancouver movie theater.

“The security footage is incomplete,” Dipper read. “But a source who chooses to remain anonymous says they saw the footage and it shows a patron having some sort of violent episode and attacking an employee before apparently bursting into flames, taking the entire theater with him. NorPac16 has already posted a video...”

_“Dipper?”_

His mother was standing in front of him, looking incredibly annoyed.

“I didn’t _touch_ the orange juice! I swear. Maybe Waddles knocked it off the counter.”

“Why is it that everything here keeps getting broken? We leave for one conference and you smash up the kitchen window! You’re _seventeen_ for godssakes! What the hell? And now _this_ _?_ Can I not go one day without cleaning broken glass off the kitchen floor?”

“Mom! I didn’t do it!”

“I don’t need this,” Eleanor muttered as she stomped towards the laundry room. “I swear, if I walk in on one more broken thing...DAMMIT, WE’RE OUT OF LAUNDRY DETERGENT! MABEL!”

“I WAS MAKING SLIME!” Mabel shouted from the hallway, where she was doing pushups. “IT TAKES A LOT OF LAUNDRY SOAP!”

“You don’t make slime with soap, do you?” Dipper asked worriedly. 

“Okay, that’s it,” Eleanor said. “I’m going to walk down to the store, buy some orange juice and dish soap, and when I get back the kitchen better be clean and there better now be anything else broken!”

Mabel sat up as the front door slammed.

“Wow. Ouch. I didn’t mean to piss her off.”

Dipper sighed and closed his laptop, no longer in the mood to read about spontaneous combustion in Canada.

“You okay, bro?” Mabel flopped down on the sofa beside him.

Dipper stared blankly. “It’s tomorrow.”

“What? The West Coast Tech person is coming to school? _Pshhh!_ That’ll be no problem!”

“Thanks, Mabel. But you...you just don’t understand the pressure I”m under. No offense.”

“All the offense taken,” Mabel said with a smile. “But you’re my brother and I love you, so I’ll let it slide just this once.”

They were both silent for a moment before simultaneously bursting out laughing.

Their father peered into the living room.

“Uh, kiddos? Orange juice? Broken glass? Kitchen? You two cleaning it up? Ring any bells?”

“Only the bells of victory!” Mabel giggled.

“Mabes, that doesn’t even make sense,” Dipper began.

“That will be _playing_ _,”_ Mabel continued. “When you utterly blow away the minds of this West Coast Tech guy tomorrow!”

“Minds? _Minds?_ What, he has multiple brains now?”

Mabel laughed harder. “I bet he has, like, eight minds! Hey! Maybe he has eight heads like the MultiBear! Or maybe one of the heads is _a fire-breathing dragon!”_

“Do I seriously have to reason with you?” Palmer said, still trying to sound annoyed and failing miserably. Anyone paying attention would have been able to tell right away that he was trying very hard not to laugh himself.

“What do you say, Dipper?” Mabel suggested. “Should we go buy some water balloons and clean up the kitchen?”

“NO!” Palmer cried.

“Oh my gosh, Dad! I was only joking!”

“We’ll help clean it up,” Dipper said.

He stood up from the sofa and walked into the kitchen.

“Wow. That _is_ a mess.”

“Well, we _are_ good at cleaning up messes,” Mabel said. “Almost as good as we are at making them.”

Palmer began mopping up orange juice streams with a dish towel, while Dipper and Mabel swept up the fragments of broken glass.

“So was that a confession? You two _did_ make this mess?”

Mabel laughed. “Hardly! My messes are _much_ more dramatic and impressive!”

“She’s got a point,” Dipper admitted.

Mabel lifted the dustpan of broken glass and blobs of orange juice and took them in the direction of the garbage can.

“You shouldn’t worry about the visit from West Coast Tech so much,” Palmer said as he wiped the tile with a paper towel one last time for good measure. “I know how important this is to you but, look. We want you to know that we’re proud of you no matter what. You’ve proven time and time again that you’re competent.”

“I...uh, thanks Dad?” Dipper said.

“I’m just saying,” Palmer said. “Nobody in this family has ever been accepted into the school. But nobody has applied themselves with as much determination as you.”

Dipper thought briefly that Ford probably had, but didn’t say anything.

“If you get accepted, you deserve it,” Palmer continued. “But if you don’t, it doesn’t make you any less studious or worthy...uh, Mabel? Are you okay?”

Dipper followed his father’s gaze to see Mabel staring, as if hypnotized by the dustpan full of glass shards and gelatinous juice rivulets.

“Hey!” he called. “Bozo-Mabel! Earth to…”

Dipper’s voice trailed off when he saw how distant her eyes were, like she was remembering something from long ago.

He frowned. What could involve a broken orange juice bottle, though?

Dipper took the pan from her, dumping it in the trash can. He finally caught Mabel’s eyes.

It was this that seemed to bring her back to the present.

“Oh,” she said. “Sorry Dipper. I just...just _spaced out_ for a moment there.”

“Are you okay?”

“Oh yeah. I’m better than okay! I’m _A_ -okay!”

“Mabel, it’s alright,” Palmer said. “You’re allowed to be stressed and I know you and your brother are under end-of-school pressure.”

“Nah,” Mabel said. “I don’t stress under pressure and most certainly not about school. Dipper stresses enough for both of us. I just enjoy the ride.”

“Nuh-uh,” Palmer said. “Whatever _that_ was just now? That was not enjoying the ride.”

“I’m _fiiiiine!_ _”_ Mabel insisted. “See how fine I am? What _I_ need,” she opened the refrigerator door. “Is Croco-Hydrate.”

“Just don’t spill it,” Palmer said, still unconvinced that his daughter was fine.

Dipper knew, though. He and Mabel had gone through a few such bad flashbacks in the years since Weirdmageddon, although they were fewer and further between these days. He knew _what_ he’d just witnessed his sister go through, he just didn’t know why a broken orange juice bottle had set it off.

He was not, however, going to ask.

“Okay,” he said. “Well I _am_ stressed. What would _you_ do if you were me and stressed?”

“Drink mass quantities of caffeine and re-watch the series finale of _Duck-Tective_ _,”_ Mabel said brightly.

“Aaaaaaand...not doing that.”

“Laaaame! C’mon, Dips!”

Dipper sighed. “I can’t focus on _anything.”_

What neither Dipper nor Mabel knew at that moment, was that their day was about to become a whole lot more stressful.

***

Eleanor couldn’t be entirely sure when she was struck by the suspicion that she was being followed but, somewhere between her house and the nearest grocery store, she found herself repeatedly looking over her shoulder.

There had been nothing to suggest that she was being pursued, only a nagging sense that she couldn’t quite shake.

She quickened her pace and arrived at the grocery store, arms wrapped around herself and biting her lip. She had momentarily forgotten what she was there to buy.

“Orange juice,” she reminded herself. “Orange juice and...and…” 

She wracked her brain but it seemed like days ago that she had been arguing with Palmer and and Dipper. She swore there was a second item she had made a mental note to pick up but she couldn’t for the life of her recall what it had been.

“Get a grip, Ellie,” she told herself. “You’re freaking out.”

She looked through the large windows of the grocery store, almost afraid of what she might see. Instead she saw a normal, overcast Piedmont day.

Eleanor shook her head as she pushed quickly past a woman in plaid who was buying sandwiches, and headed for the frozen food department.

The notion that something was wrong seemed to increase with every step and she was actually starting to feel a bit dizzy.

“Orange juice.”

She made her way down the aisle. She was shivering now and wasn’t sure if it was from the cold of the freezers or something else. There seemed to be a buzzing noise in the back of her head.

_“Orange juice.”_

Why was she feeling so disoriented? It was very much like being drunk, except Eleanor hadn’t been drunk for years. Not even at that HAL conference where Palmer had a few too many at an evening social.

The odd feelings were getting worse, fast. Now even Eleanor’s gums were tingling.

She wasn’t worried that someone was following her anymore, now she was worried that something more physical was wrong.

She looked around for an employee or anyone - maybe the woman in plaid? - to ask for help, and the entire frozen food section seemed to spin. But she wasn’t alone.

Eleanor was suddenly acutely aware of a figure beside her that wasn’t really there.

It couldn’t be. It had no facial features, clothing or skin, it was simply the impression of a figure. Still, the form couldn’t be mistaken for anything other than the strange echo of a person.

“Wha…?” Eleanor’s vision swam in and out of focus. 

_Orange juice_ _,_ she tried to tell herself, as if that would somehow snap her out of whatever delusional state she was in.

Unfortunately the mere thought of orange juice or any other consumable substance made her want to vomit.

There was nothing more to do but stare blurrily at the approaching apparition.

“What...are...you…?” she managed to ask, feeling simultaneously disconnected and present.

The buzzing in her head was deafening, her teeth were vibrating.

The apparition spoke but Eleanor couldn’t understand their words. The voice, however, made her very core rattle and, for a moment, she feared her bones would shatter and break.

Only intense nausea kept her from running and held her firmly in place, even as she felt somehow suspended.

And then she managed a step forward and the figure opposite her did the same, closing the distance and the two suddenly found themselves sharing the same space.

The very fabric of reality screamed in agony. Or, at least, that’s what Eleanor distantly imagined until she realized the screaming was coming from herself. Everything felt like it had just caught fire and was being squeezed through a cascade of razors.

‘So this is how I die,’ Eleanor thought faintly before she lost consciousness, lying alone on the frozen food aisle.

***

Many, many years later, when the world had likely long forgotten Eleanor Pines and all of the other people who’d lived and died that day, Mabel walked into the office building of the Time Agency, impersonating a police officer.

This time, Mabel had come to the future alone and hadn’t told Dipper. He would undoubtedly have disapproved if she had.

The elevator doors slid shut in front of her face and the lobby, complete with an exceptionally bored-looking Jetlag, disappeared from view.

The button for floor 6 was already glowing as Mabel had pressed it immediately. She felt a giddy thrill of excitement and danger as the elevator began to rise.

The danger element became a lot more real when the doors opened on floor 6 to reveal a very angry Dundgren, who stood facing her with his hands on his hips.

“Ristica!” he said sternly.

Mabel gulped, but was definitely encouraged by the fact that he’d used that name and not ‘Pines.’ Her secret, it seemed, was still safe.

“Oh-ho,” she said. “Somebody looks grumpy.”

“Futura, you hired a _Guide?”_

“Oh _that_ ,” Mabel said dismissively, as she stepped out of the elevator. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

She began walking towards Ristica’s office, and Dundgren matched her stride for stride.

“Look,” he said. “I thought we agreed to keep this whole Timedisc business on the down-low. We need to gather information but not appear to be doing so.”

“That’s what I’m _trying_ to do.”

“So this View guy seems interested in meeting you. How do you know he’s not working for the uprisers? He’s a _known Gabriel sympathizer for Time Baby’s sake!”_

Mabel had to do some quick thinking. This was all new information and the real Futura Ristica had probably done some things since Mabel’s first visit that could make passing as her more tricky.

Heck, what if the real Ristica was in her office?

Mabel’s fears were alleviated when she entered the cramped space only to find Lobster-Bob.

With a mental sigh of relief, Mabel turned back to face Dundgren.

“A sympathizer does not equal a supporter. If I can talk to him, I might be able to bring him around to our side."

“It’s like you’re always mutterin’ under yer breath,” Lobster-Bob commented. “Make allies, not enemies.”

Dundgren huffed and sat down at the far desk, looking grumpily at the suspended human skull above it.

“Any of the uprisers can hack a Guide,” he sighed. “You, of all people, should know that. Your contacting Nathan View is pretty admirable but if Gabriel or Cody or Starwood get wind that we’re snooping around after Timedisc 19-4, our cover of feigned indifference could be blown out of the water.”

Mabel wanted to argue but she realized that it would be pointless and she likely didn’t even have enough information to _make_ an argument. So she went for a slightly different angle.

“Do you think Nathan View has the Timedisc?”

“I...don’t know,” Dundgren said. “He’s certainly seen some of its content but his message to you didn’t seem to indicate that it was in his possession.” 

“Huh,” Mabel said, looking at Ristica’s desk through her fake flight goggles.

Lobster-Bob looked expectantly from Mabel to Dundgren and then back again.

“What did _you_ think of View’s reply?” Mabel asked after some deliberation. She hadn’t seen View’s message, of course, but she deduced that the real Ristica had received it.

“Friendly and warm,” Dundgren said quickly. “Which could either be a good sign for us or a huge flaring red flag. If Gabriel or someone is whispering in his ear, they might already have him working for them and he could be feeding any information about us directly back to the enemy.”

“Fair point,” Mabel admitted. “But I believe in expecting the best out of people first. I think that belief is worth the risk.”

“I...don’t,” Dundgren said. “I’m sorry, Ristica, but I don’t share that belief and I don’t see how the _fuck_ you do after everything that’s happened.”

“I’m thinkin’ she deserves a few accolades for an upbeat attitude,” Lobster-Bob chimed in.

“Just...be _cautious_ , Ristica,” Dundgren said. “You’re _smart_ , you know these things.”

“But we’ve _got_ to get the info from the Timedisc,” Mabel said. “So we can find…”

“Oh we’ll get it eventually,” Dundgren muttered. “But I think Gabriel’s going to make sure everyone else sees it first.”

“What do you mean?” Mabel asked.

“Uh...Gabriel’s tha’ one who made the disc?” Lobster-Bob said. “By stealin’ files from this facility. _Duh.”_

“Of course,” Mabel said.

Dundgren picked up a digital time-pencil and bit it.

“So this Gabriel guy,” Mabel continued, even though every part of her that wanted to keep up the Futura Ristica ruse protested. “What makes you think he’s sharing the content of the Timedisc with everyone else?”

“Time-yeesh!” Dundgren cried. “Who are you and what have you done with Ristica?”

“Um…” Mabel began.

“Seriously, you’re really off your game today.”

“Sorry. There was this orange juice bottle and it broke and my Mom got mad and then all the little glass pieces…”

“Understandable,” said Dundgren. “But come on, you can’t have forgotten _this…_ ” he sighed. “Computer! Show the video of Gabriel in Time Square!”

The hologram above the desk flickered to life and the floating pixels swarmed together to form the image of a man with waist-length curly blonde hair and a cape. He was standing atop a building, head thrown back in a cry of triumph and chest thrust forward so that any viewer could clearly see that his shirt was emblazoned with the words ‘I WILL REVEAL THE CONTENT OF TIMEDISC 19-4 TO THE WHOLE ENTIRE WORLD!’

As Mabel watched, the man reached to his chest and ripped off the shirt, revealing a second one underneath bearing the words ‘EXCEPT FOR THE TIME AGENCY.’

He ripped that shirt off too, exposing a third which said ‘THEY SUCK AND MY OPINION IS GOD.’

“I think he means ‘gospel’,” Lobster-Bob said helpfully.

The man, whom Mabel could only assume was Gabriel, then ripped _that_ shirt off, revealing yet another one that read ‘I’M NEEDY AND I LIKE TO BAIT PEOPLE.’

There was a screaming noise as a hoard of people swarmed around the building and tried to throw expired time lettuce at Gabriel. He ripped off the last shirt so that all the people had a crystal-clear view of the words ‘IT WORKED’ tattooed across his bare chest.

“How does he fit so many shirts so tightly on top of each other?” Mabel asked, fascinated. “I must know his secrets.”

“No one knows,” Dundgren said. “Philosophers and scientists alike have no explanation. What we do know is that whatever Gabriel removed from our database and put onto the Timedisc could prove catastrophic to us if it is shown without the context of the files that Gabriel didn’t steal.”

“Gabriel himself could be pretty catastrophic too,” Lobster-Bob pointed out. “He’s gotta’ bad habit of blowin’ up other uprisers.”

“Yes, that’s true,” Dundgren agreed. 

He directed the computer to pull up a map, which Mabel could make very little sense of. There were, however, a few pulsing dots of light that she was willing to bet were important.

Sure enough, Dundgren began pointing to them.

“There are seven known copies of Timedisc 19-4, and we have pinned down the locations of five of them. Here, here, here, here and here. They’re all in distant, hostile districts we can’t infiltrate - and this one is way North at King’s Tower. Not sure how the hell it got _there_. Gabriel has been busy and on the move. Despite his t-shirts, he’s played his cards well.”

“You mean played his _Timediscs_ well,” Mabel said. “Am I right?”

Her officemates didn’t show any sign of sharing her amusement.

“Right,” she picked up a digital pencil and began tapping it on the desk.

Dundgren looked very disapproving.

“I know you don’t like it,” Mabel continued. “But I’m going to meet Nathan View...where was it again?”

“He said the coffee shop of your choice in the Coffee Shop District but it has to be tomorrow.”

“Oh, that’s easy. Tell him the nineties retro one. But make it evening sometime.”

“I’m not telling him anything,” Dundgren insisted.

“Fine. Lobster-Bob?”

“Yeah, yeah. Make _me_ arrange your date.”

“It’s not a date.”

“Whatever. You can depend on me, Futura. I’ll hire a Guide and deliver the message for you. Looks like you could use a day off anyway.”

“Seconded,” Dundgren said. “The Lobster is right. You don’t seem yourself today.”

Mabel stretched, leaning back in her chair. “Oh you have no idea.”

***

Tambry’s face burst into a grin on Robbie’s phone screen.

“Hey Robbie! How she go?”

“She goes,” Robbie said with a sad smile.

Tambry frowned. “That doesn’t sound too positive. You make it back to Oregon okay?”

“Uh, _yeah_ _,”_ Robbie said. He turned the phone and panned around his bedroom. “Don’t you recognize this emo paradise, Tambers?”

“Ugh. Do you even have windows?”

“Hey! It’s not _that_ bad anymore!”

It was true, Robbie’s childhood room had grown as he had - becoming slightly more welcoming and less of a metaphorical neon sign announcing ‘ANGSTY TEENAGE BOY LIVES HERE.’

Still, he was a bit embarrassed by how it hadn’t yet evolved to include his college experiences and interests.

“I’m gonna’ try to update it a bit,” he told Tambry. “You know, kinda’ modernize the whole situation.”

Tambry laughed. “Yeah. You can start by opening the stupid window.”

“Geez, okay. Give me a minute.”

Robbie walked over to the window and pushed aside the heavy curtains, revealing the windowpane itself and behind it -

“Hi!” Wendy said brightly.

“AAAAAGGH!”

Robbie stumbled backwards, tripping over the rug and sending the phone flying.

“Robbie?” Tambry’s voice called in alarm. “Robbe, what’s going on? Hello? _Hello?_ Robbie?”

Wendy let herself in through the window and stepped over Robbie, picking the phone up from the floor and holding it up so Tambry could see her.

“Heya Tambers!”

“Wendy?” Tambry looked both delighted and deeply confused.

“WENDY WHAT’RE YOU DOING HERE?!” Robbie cried from the floor. “It’s, like, almost freaking midnight.”

“Exactly,” Wendy said. “Don’t you want to see what Gideon and the _Ghost Harassers_ lady are up to?”

“Waitwaitwait,” Tambry said. “Gideon? _Ghost Harassers_? What am I missing? Robbie, did you plan to go spying on someone without inviting me?”

“I...didn’t...didn’t _plan_ anything,” Robbie said, scrambling to his feet.

“We saw Gideon talking to that producer woman who works with the Harassers crew,” Wendy explained. “They’re gonna’ meet up tonight and discuss something about the town. We don’t know what, exactly, but we want to find out.”

“We do?” Robbie asked.

“I would,” said Tambry. “Take me with you.”

“You’re on the phone,” Robbie pointed out.

“So what else is new,” said Wendy. 

“My lifelong aspiration,” Tambry laughed. “I’m now a phone. C’mon, take phone-me with you. I’ll be like your secret surveillance camera.”

“Except the screen glows and it’s night out,” Wendy said. “Literally everybody will see you.”

“And then us,” Robbie said.

“Can’t you, like, put the phone in stealth mode?”

 _“Stealth_ mode?”

“Yeah.”

“Tambry, why would any phone have stealth mode?”

“I’m all for Existentialism And The Art Of Stealth Phone Maintenance,” Tambry said. “But if we’re supposed to be somewhere by midnight, we need to get a move on.”

“She’s right,” Robbie said.

“Of course she’s right,” said Wendy. She gestured towards the window. “Eh? Eh?”

“Wendy,” Robbie said dryly. “This is my house and we’re adults. We can go through the front door.”

“We’re adults?” Tambry snickered. “That’s news to me.”

“Shall we,” Robbie opened his bedroom door. “Exit this house like the normal people we are?”

“Robbie, there are literally dead bodies in your living room.”

Robbie just flashed a huge grin. _“_ _Never mind all that_! C’mon!”

“Oh you did _not_ just ‘Never Mind’ me!” Wendy said, chasing after him.

Robbie snickered, jogging through the dark house, using the advantage of having grown up there.

“I can’t see _anything_ _,”_ Tambry complained from the phone.

“If it makes you feel better, neither can I,” Wendy said. “Ugh! I think I just bumped into a coffin. _Robbie!”_

“Over here,” Robbie said from somewhere to her left. “Door!”

It was a bit lighter outside than in, and Wendy could see quite a lot more when she stepped from the house onto the porch.

There was a crackling noise from the fire pit and suddenly Scamp was bounding towards Robbie delightedly.

“Um, what am I looking at?” Tambry asked.

“This is Scamp,” Robbie said. “They’re my new pet fire.”

“Only in Gravity Falls,” Tambry laughed. “I wish I had a pet fire. Dr. Logan wouldn’t be too happy, though. He says no adopting pets on the expedition.”

“So how _is_ Mexico?” Wendy asked. “And who’s Dr. Logan?”

“The lead researcher. He knows a crazy amount about archaeology, I’ll tell you that.”

By this point, they had reached the end of the driveway and were setting a course for the used car lot. The temperature was dropping as the night went on and it was already a bit chilly out, so Scamp was much appreciated.

“Stars are nice tonight,” Robbie commented.

“Oh I wish I was there,” Tambry said. “I mean, Mexico _is_ awesome and all, though. We’re about to go on an expedition into the jungle to try to locate some ruins. I’m _so_ stoked!”

“Ruins?” Wendy asked.

“Yeah. Legend has it there used to be a city in the area. But the region is virtually inaccessible. You can’t even fly through it, the fog is so thick.”

“I guess you’re exploring on foot, then?” 

“You guess right! And it’s gonna’ be an epic pain because the terrain is really rugged and the undergrowth is stupid thick.”

“Hells to the yeah, bushwhacking!” Wendy chimed in, punching the air. 

“Shhhh!” Robbie hissed. “We don’t want Gideon to suspect anything.”

“Uh, yeah,” Wendy said. “Because Gids would _neeveer_ suspect that we’d _ever_ spy on him.”

Tambry laughed.

Robbie held a hand over the phone screen as they approached the Gleeful used car lot.

“Ugh,” said Tambry, clearly trying to maneuver her phone so she could see through the cracks between his fingers. “Why would anyone with an ounce of intuition ever agree to meet anybody here?”

“It’s the _Ghost Harassers_ crew, Tambry,” Wendy muttered. “I’m not thinking they _have_ intuition.”

“Fair point,” Robbie said. “Hey Wendy, we could hide behind that big-ass schoolbus over there.”

“Or,” Wendy said. “We could hide _in_ that big-ass schoolbus.”

“Nice.”

But first we gotta’ do something about,” Wendy pointed at Scamp. “ _Them_.”

“No problem, I got this,” Robbie said. “Scamp, c’mere.”

He walked to a large, upright metal barrel near the edge of the car lot. It was half-full of trash.

‘GLEEFUL’S INCREDIBLY CONVENIENT METAL TRASH CANS!’ was emblazoned across the side. Underneath were slightly smaller letters that read. ‘GREAT FOR FIRES.’

Scamp hurried to the can curiously, putting their little stumpy legs on the side and looking at Robbie questioningly.

“Yeah, I know,” Robbie said, scratching his head. “But hey! It’s not _that_ bad.”

Scamp stared at him intently for a moment and then turned back to the can. They ungracefully scaled the side and then tumbled into the garbage with a sizzling hiss.

“There you go, little dude!” Robbie said. He grinned and gave Scamp a double thumbs-up. “Now you just hang here for a few. _Stay_ , Scamp. Got it?”

Scamp crackled.

“See you in a bit!”

Robbie jogged back over to Wendy, who was apparently trying to explain to Tambry what was going on.

“Yeah, I _get_ that he told it to _stay_ ,” Tambry’s voice was saying in a slightly slowed, tinny way that indicated a bad phone signal and slight lag. “But why is that scampfire thing or whatever it is actually _listening_ to him?”

“I don’t know,” Wendy hissed. “I guess it _likes_ him or something.”

There was a pause.

Then…

“Heh! A campfire with very poor taste. Who knew.”

“Hey!” Robbie protested.

“Tambers, you’ve got a lag,” Wendy said. “We should probably let you go.”

Another pause.

“NO!” Tambry cried.

_“Tambry.”_

“Oh crap!” Robbie said. “Here they come!”

Three figures walked into the section of the car lot illuminated by Scamp’s flames.

“Duuuude, don’t you think meeting some kid in an abandoned junkyard in the middle of the night is a bit...sketchy?” Dave was asking while he held a large camera on his shoulder and looked around warily.

Jake gave him a look. “My middle name is ‘sketchy’, bro.”

“Really?” Dave asked. “I never knew that.”

 _“Guys_ _!”_ Ivy said sharply. _“_ _This_ _,”_ she pointed at the ground while glaring at the two men. “This is how we get a story.”

Jake nodded. “We _will_ do anything to get a story.”

“This town, I’m telling you,” Ivy continued. “It’s our big break. There’s something really bizarre about it.”

“We already _had_ a big break,” Dave said. “We’re on the Used To Be About History Channel! We won a SPOOP Award.”

“We could have a bigger break,” Jake suggested.

“Well I guess...I guess that’s true.”

“Of course it’s true!” Ivy cried. “And that is what we seek out - truth!”

 _“The_ truth!”

“I think these guys are high,” Wendy whispered.

“I can’t hear what they’re saying,” Tambry’s tinny voice said through the phone.

“Shhhh!” Wendy and Robbie both hissed, slapping their hands over the phone.

Fortunately the Harassers didn’t hear anything because at that very moment a loud, drawling voice bellowed across the car lot.

“Oh _hell_ -o! I’m so glad y’all could come! Welcome! Welcome! I hope you found everythin’ to your liking.”

“We’re in a fucking car lot,” Wendy whispered. “How is that to _anyone’s_ liking?”

“Oh hey,” Ivy said with a graciousness that sounded just as fake as Gideon’s. “Mr. Gleeful, was it?”

“Just like it says on the sign, ma’am.”

“Of course.”

It was clear that both Gideon and Ivy were intent on one thing, trading information, but neither of them wanted to seem too eager.

“So, uh, sir,” Jake said excitedly. “Do you mind if we interview you for our show?”

Gideon giggled. “Oh my! Lil’ ol me on _Ghost Harassers_ _?_ I’d be honored.”

“Well, formalities first,” Ivy said. She pulled a three ring binder from the bag which was slung across her shoulder. “You already signed an agreement waiver when we met before…”

“Yes, yes,” Gideon said dismissively. “We’re all peachy good here.”

“Peachy good?” Tambry whispered, her voice muffled by the hands covering the phone. “Peachy? Good?”

“Rolling,” Dave said.

Jake practically _leaped_ in front of the camera, throwing his arms wide.

 _“Okay!_ So we are on-location at the Gleeful Used Car Lot in Gravity Falls, Oregon and we are about to talk to someone who says he knows a lot about the unexplained happenings in this town. Not only that, he has experienced a lot of these happenings himself. This, ladies and gentlemen, is Mr. Gideon Gleeful.”

Gideon giggled. “Oh please, Jake. Call me Li’l Gideon. It’s my nickname.”

All three of the Harassers snorted. Wendy couldn’t blame them. There was nothing ‘Lil about Gideon anymore. Wendy would have wondered why he wasn’t on the town football team if she hadn’t already known the answer. The Gravity Falls highschool football team, The Fighting Rabbits, was practically non-existent. At every game, the team would spontaneously vanish from the field, only to reappear months later with no memory of the intervening time.

“Okay,” Jake said. “I’m not even going to follow the origins of _that_ nickname to the obvious conclusion.”

This time everyone laughed, although Gideon appeared slightly confused as to why.

“So tell us, Li’l Gideon,” Ivy said, fighting to keep a straight face. “What kinds of supernatural occurrences have you experienced in this town?”

“Well, between you and me, this town has always been strange. Hidden secrets, ghosts, possessed charms. When I was a li’l bitty kid, I found a book at school…”

“A Satanic book?” Jake asked hopefully.

“Satanic?” Gideon asked. “No, no. Weelll, not _‘zactly_. But it did have spells for summoning demons.”

“A. Satanic. Book.” Jake said excitedly into the camera, punctuating each word with a hammer motion of his fist.

“Or... _a_ demon,” Gideon said, looking a bit put out by Jake attempting to redirect the attention to himself. “Or an old god or something. Still not sure.”

“So this was…” Dave said. “Like...a book of dark magic?”

“Very dark magic,” Gideon confirmed. “The kind of magic you use for ultimate power.”

“Gideon, can I ask you something?” Jake began ominously.

Gideon said nothing, although a look of worry briefly flashed across his face.

“Did you,” Jake continued. “Ever attempt any of the rituals in this Satanic book?”

Wendy and Robbie tensed, watching as Gideon thought quickly and hard about how to answer.

To their frustration, however, Ivy butted in.

“But if this was a _real_ book of the dark arts, what the heck was it doing in an _elementary school?”_

Even Gideon looked annoyed by the interruption. 

Ivy ignored the looks and pressed on. 

“I mean, how do we know this wasn’t some tome of bullshit kicked up by some kids as a Halloween prank?”

Everyone glared at her.

“What? Somebody’s got to be the skeptic. So this book. Where exactly did it come from?”

“It wasn’t written by any school kid,” Gideon said slowly. “It was written by a scientist.”

“A necromancer?” Jake asked excitedly. 

“A researcher. Dr. Stan Pines. Maybe you’ve heard of him?”

“It’s funny you should mention that…” Dave said.

“We have heard of him,” Ivy said.

“He was kind of a kook,” Jake added.

“Oh, he was a kook alright,” Gideon agreed. “But a brilliant, dangerous kook.”

“And he was the one who wrote this book of evil magic?” Ivy asked, still sounding like she had difficulty believing Gideon’s story.

“He was. And the rituals and stuff...I know they were real because...Well, to tell ya’ the gosh-honest truth, they worked.”

Dave gasped loudly and Jake made an inhuman-sounding exclamation. 

“Guess that answers my question.”

“I was just a li’l kid. I didn’t know any better. What lonely school kid wouldnta’ tried this stuff? It promised to make me... _great_. How could I resist?”

“So you tried these spells,” Jake said. “And how did they affect you?”

“It was great at first. I had power, I could control things. People loved me, they thought I was a psychic. I could have anything I wanted.”

“But,” Jake said. “I’m guessing there was a catch.”

“Darn tootin’ right there was a catch. I got in too deep. I got in way too deep.”

“What happened?” Jake asked.

“Jake, there was powers controllin’ Dr. Pines, or maybe controlled _by_ Dr. Pines. He was workin’ with a demon that he summoned, and that demon went an’ wrought _havoc_ on this town.”

Ivy exchanged a look with her coworkers, then asked. “And that demon is still here? That’s why the townsfolk are afraid to speak about it?”

“Aw no, no,” Gideon laughed and shook his head. “Bi...the demon was vanquished thank the lord, but he destroyed the entire town first!”

“Um…” Ivy began.

“I know, I know. The town doesn’t look like it was destroyed. It was a localized armageddon and destroying the force that caused it reversed the damage.” A strange expression came across Gideon’s face. One that Wendy had never seen before. “There’s no actual evidence that it ever happened.”

“But people remember it?” Jake asked. 

“People are forbidden by law to speak of it. The mayor passed the Never Mind All That Act afterwards and we were instructed never to speak of the events again.”

“So that’s why they’re so hesitant to mention anything supernatural!” Ivy exclaimed. “It’s actually illegal!”

“That’s why we’re meeting at ass o’clock in the morning in a used car lot!” Jake realized.

“We could get in trouble!” Dave gasped.

“See, that’s what I thought, too,” Gideon said. “But it gets stranger. People who talked got sent away - to the insane asylum! I didn’t dare even speak to my own family about what happened. But then...I started to realize something.” He paused dramatically and the Harassers leaned closer. “I’m not always sure if all the people in this town even _remember_ the event we don’t speak of.

“They can deny knowledge of the Never Mind All That Act but...I kind of accidentally showed some of them an image of the demon’s symbol and...they didn’t even react. And I’m good at readin’ people. They should _know_ that image and be rightly scared of it. But they didn’ know it and they weren’ scared. Lazy Susan even called it _cute!”_

On the phone, Tambry’s jaw dropped and her brow furrowed.

‘What the fuck?’ she mouthed at Robbie.

“And then I started gettin’ kinda’ weirded out, so I went to the town archives,” Gideon continued. “And there’s nothin’, not one thing about the Never Mind That Act _ever_ existing anywhere.”

“You think it was removed?” Jake asked. “Destroyed? By who?”

“I don’t know,” Gideon said. “But I need help. And you’re my best bet.”

Wendy felt cold in a way she was pretty sure had nothing to do with the chill of the night.

Robbie was shaking her arm, trying to get her attention. She ignored it, trying to focus on her eavesdropping, but he was annoyingly persistent and leaned in to whisper directly in her ear.

_“Look in the car behind Scamp.”_

There was an old, ratty-looking sedan parked not too far away from the Incredibly Convenient Metal Trash Can. The glare of the firelight reflected off the windshield enough to obscure the interior from anyone standing in the middle of the car lot but, from their vantage point in the school bus, Wendy could see the silhouette of a person inside.

“What the…?” she muttered.

“I can’t see!” Tambry hissed. “What?”

The figure had very long, wavy hair and a sharp profile, and seemed quite intent on what was happening between Gideon and the _Ghost Harassers_ crew.

“He looks familiar,” Robbie muttered. “I think I’ve seen him before somewhere.”

“He could be anyone,” Wendy said very quietly.

“It was on the bus, I think. Not this one. He was on the same bus I rode into town on the other day.”

“You can tell that from a dark profile? Why aren’t you working for the FBI?”

“What are you seeing?” Tambry asked, just loud enough to be concerning.

 _“Shhhh!_ _”_ Robbie told her “There’s some guy in one of the other cars here spying on Gideon.”

“Boy, spying on Gideon seems really popular tonight,” Tambry laughed. “All the cool kids are doing it.”

“Yeah, I’m not sure about the ‘cool’ part,” Wendy muttered.

Her attention was drawn back to the Ghost Harassers, as Jake was talking so loudly it would appear he wanted to be heard not only by the man in the car but by every ear in the surrounding state.

“So this demon,” he was saying. “This evil hellbeast that Dr. Pines summoned from the depths. Did it have a name?”

“He did, actually,” Gideon said. “Not sure if it was his real name or not but...he went by…”

“Yes?” Dave pressed.

“It...it...his name…”

“Go on,” Ivy said.

“It was...B...B…”

“Come on, spit it out!” Jake said, clearly about to explode from excitement and suspense.

Gideon took a deep breath. “He went by...Bill.”

There was a pause. A very awkward pause. And then Ivy exploded with laughter.

“It’s not funny!” Gideon protested.

 _“Bill_ _?!?”_ Dave said incredulously. “Are you serious right now?”

“Of all the Zozos and Abbadons and Paguks out there, the best demon name you’ve got is _Bill?!?”_

Gideon was starting to turn red with both embarrassment and anger. 

“I’m not makin’ it up! I’m tellin’ ya the absolute truth!”

Ivy sighed and rolled her eyes dramatically.

“Maybe he is,” Dave said. “Because who would _make up_ something like that for a demon’s name?”

“Uuughhhh, I don’t know,” Jake said. “This is hurting my head.”

“Your head’s been hurting since we got to town, Jake.”

Gideon looked like he was about to start throwing punches, and the Harassers were starting to eye him warily. He looked fully capable of taking them all out if he really wanted to.

“You’re _got_ to know how ridiculous it sounds,” Ivy said carefully. “Especially combined with something you say there’s not a shred of evidence for.”

“Oh I _know_ _,”_ Gideon said, his tone of voice taking on an edge. “But I also know you’re the key to gettin’ to the bottom of this.”

“I’m sorry,” Ivy said. “We’ll poke around, but your story, it...it sounds kind of far-fetched and... _Bill_ _?_ That’s the least scary name I’ve ever heard. C’mon, guys,” she gestured to Dave and Jake. “This interview’s over.”

“But…” Jake began. 

“Don’t even start,” Ivy said, gently taking him by the arm the way one might guide a small child who was unwilling to leave a box full of kittens at a candy shop.

Gideon stood alone, a looming shadow in the flickering scampfirelight. He watched the Harassers leave, anger rising. The moment they were out of sight, he walked over and kicked the wheel off a rusted Explorer.

“I’m...gonna’ follow the Ghost Harassers,” Wendy whispered, clapping a hand on Robbie’s shoulder. “Something about them...You and Tambers cover Gid and the car stalker.”

She stood up and slipped out of the bus, into the night.

There was a loud squeak and Robbie quickly refocused his attention on the individual that had just exited the sedan.

In the firelight, the silhouette was now definitively recognizable as the young man from the bus into town, perhaps only slightly older than Gideon himself. His hair, Robbie noted, looked like it belonged in a shampoo commercial.

“I believe you, Gideon,” he said.

Gideon jumped. “WHO ARE YOU??” he demanded. “WHY ARE YOU IN MY FATHER’S CAR LOT?”

“Some reason you are,” the newcomer said, effortlessly hoisting himself onto the hood of the Explorer, which promptly crashed to the ground since the wheel was now missing. “Investigating Ground Zero in order to find Patient Zero.”

“Huh?” Gideon said. 

“I believe in magic, Gideon. It’s my work. But it can be used for bad. I’ve had friends destroyed by it. And I...I believe those responsible for its misuse should be held accountable by those who use it ethically. Don’t you agree?”

“Who _are_ you?” Gideon asked.

The young man spread his arms theatrically and slid from the car hood.

“They call me The Great Gabriel. But you can call me Gabriel. Or...I guess, _Great_ , if it suits you.”

“I...uh, I’ll stick with Gabriel.”

“Excellent. See, Gideon, I think we should work together since we have much in common and share a common worldview. We both seek justice in an unjust world. We have a commonality in our pasts as well.”

“How would you know anythin’ about me or my pasts?”

Gabriel grinned. “I do my research. We all know something happened here four years ago, August. But it’s been covered up. Why?”

“It was localized…” Gideon began.

“But it was detected elsewhere. A facility in Nunavut sent the readings to West Coast Tech, but they’ve since disappeared. But let’s not talk here. Any one of these cars could be bugged.”

“Point taken, good sir. Perhaps you could come inside. I have whiskey.”

“That sounds phenomenal.”

“Gideon’s, like, fifteen!” Tambry hissed.

“Shhhhh!” Robbie muttered. “Not like we didn’t drink stupid shit at fifteen.”

Gideon and Gabriel disappeared, the latter throwing a suspicious glance behind him.

“Well what the heck?” Tambry said. “I almost wish I was back there with you guys. Things’re getting strange.”

“I dunno’,” Robbie said. “Don’t you think maybe Gideon’s playing this up for dramatics? No evidence that Weirdmageddon happened? Come on, we _all_ remember it.”

“Yeah, but since we never talk about it because of the Stupid Act…” Tambry said. “Don’t you think you should go break into the town records or something?”

“Tambry, it’s like two in the morning!” Robbie cried. “And how the hell has the _phone battery_ lasted this long?”

“That’s the real mystery,” Tambry agreed. “Maybe we should try to spy through the house windows and find out what the two Gs are up to.”

“Yeah, uh, negative?” Robbie said. “I don’t trust him not to have video surveillance and tripwires absolutely everywhere.”

“Uh...And you didn’t think of that when you and Wen decided to trespass all over his property?”

“I meant the _house_ _,_ Tambry.”

“If he’s got the house wired, why not the car lot too. He once had the entire town under surveillance with those stupid badges, remember?”

“Badgers?” Robbie teased.

“Badges! Stop trying to be funny.”

Robbie just laughed and called for Scamp, who hopped out of the trash can and scurried over.

***

“I can’t believe you went back to the future alone!” Dipper said, staring at the spectacle that was Mabel lying on the floor of his room while Waddles bumped her worriedly with his snout. “What if something had _happened?”_

“Ugh. It was _fine_ , Dipper. At least I hope it was. Oh no, you don’t _really_ think I screwed up the universe, do you?”

“Mabel,” Dipper got up from his desk and went to sit on the floor beside her. “It’ll be fine. I have faith in you.”

“But what if I _did_ _?_ What if I screwed up the entire _future?”_

This possibility only now seemed to truly be occurring to Mabel.

“Maybe you should let Agent Ristica take care of it. I’m sure she’s gotten to where she is by being smart about things.”

“I just got carried away.”

“You do that sometimes,” Dipper lay down next to her. “Wow, I really need to vacuum this rug.”

“Now I just feel...anxious,” Mabel said.

“Anxious? That’s my department, Mabes.”

“No, I feel like something terrible is about to happen.”

“I think that’s normal at our age.”

“I’m pretty sure influencing political affairs in a crumbling future society isn’t normal for anyone our age, Dipper.”

Waddles snorted approval.

“Mabel, have you _read_ young adult fiction?” 

“KIDS!” their father suddenly shouted from downstairs. “Dipper! Mabel!”

“That sounds...ominous,” Mabel said.

Waddles looked intently at the door as heavy footsteps approached fast. He gave an alarmed “OINK!” as Palmer kicked open the door without knocking.

He was as pale as it were possible for a living human being to be.

“Dad…?” Dipper asked. 

“Something’s happened,” Palmer said.

Dipper and Mabel traded a worried look.

“We’ve got to go to the hospital. Your Mom...guys, I don’t know if she’s had a stroke. I just got a call. At the grocery store this morning. Had a fit or something...They’ve been trying to get her stabilized…”

“Whoah, whoah, calm down!” Mabel said, grabbing his shoulders. “What?”

Palmer was shaking.

“I’ll get the keys,” said Dipper.

***

Not wanting to attract attention, Robbie took a not-so-short shortcut through the woods hoping to skirt around back to his house. He and Tambry continued to speculate about what Gabriel and Gideon might be discussing.

Tambry’s voice was getting more choppy and Robbie had a pretty good idea why.

“Tambers, I think the phone battery is about to crap out. I jinxed it by mentioning it.”

“Yea-eh, youuuuu’were saaaayinngggggggggggggggggggg…”

Colored static flashed across the screen and Tambry’s face disappeared. That certainly wasn’t something that normally happened when his phone’s battery was at low eb.

“Tambry?” he said loudly at the flashing colors. “You still there?”

Something snapped loudly in the dark forest, causing Robbie to look up from the screen.

“Wendy?” he called.

There was a loud rustling.

Scamp flared brightly and appeared to be straining intently to see what lay beyond their self-produced glow.

“Wendy?” Robbie called again.

The rustling came closer, sounding more and more like footsteps.

“Wendy, say something!” Robbie yelled. “You’re giving me the freaks! Scamp too!”

The footsteps turned into running and a person entered the firelight. 

He wasn’t Wendy. He looked like someone from a very urban environment rather than a hiker. He was also wearing a dead squirrel on his head.

“Dude,” Robbie said. “You lost?”

The man, who did look like he’d been in the woods for a while, broke into a grin.

“I’m the opposite of lost, fellow denizen of the world.”

Scamp hissed in alarm and took a few steps back.

“Ooookay, buddy,” Robbie said. “Look, I know there’s a great mushroom patch over near the river, but I think you need to sit down and ride this one out.”

“Mushrooms?” the newcomer asked. “This is so, _so_ much bigger and more substantial than mushrooms.”

Robbie rolled his eyes. “What the hell are you even _doing_ by yourself?”

“I could ask you the same question if I really cared. Which I don’t.” 

The man dissolved into giggles, bent over and holding his stomach.

“I don’t need this right now,” Robbie muttered to Scamp, who stomped backwards, not taking their coal eyes off the stranger.

“So, um, dude,” Robbie said. “I know you’ve just discovered your future career in standup comedy but right now can you, like, stand up without the comedy part?”

The giggles subsided and the man stood up, tears running down his face.

“I’m apologize,” he said. “I should’ve introduced myself. My name’s Edwin Blake and I think I’m going to kill you.”

 _“What_ _?!”_ Robbie cried. “Dude, what the _hell?”_

Edwin pulled a shiny pocket knife out of his boot and lunged.

Robbie quickly darted backwards and out of the way.

“What the fuck kind of mushrooms did you _eat?”_

“I told you,” Edwin cried, rushing at Robbie. “I had a vision, not mushrooms!”

Scamp darted in front of Robbie and hissed threateningly.

Edwin hesitated, staring down at the little creature, their flames illuminating the glazed, deranged look in his eyes.

“Call off your firespider,” he snarled. “I am only following orders.”

“Orders?” Robbie cried, taking a step forward, careful to make sure he was still out of range of the pocket knife. “Who wants _me_ dead? Besides everyone who knew me when I was fifteen.”

“Oh don’t delude yourself. None of you are _that_ important.”

“WHOSE ORDERS?!?”

Edwin looked skyward in exasperation. “The orders of chaos, you insufferable nincompoop. I saw it and I felt it and now I _am_ it.”

“You’re high off your rocker.”

“It must spread. I must spread it and all must end.”

“Way high off your rocker.”

“And by end, I mean BEGIN!”

He screeched the word ‘begin’ in such a way that it terrified Scamp, who fled their protective position and ran into the forest a short distance away.

Robbie looked at Edwin who was in the process of noticing that there was no longer an impediment to his attack.

“Oh shit,” Robbie said.

And Edwin burst into flames.

“OH SHIT!”

Edwin’s screeching echoed through the woods and Robbie backed away, eyes almost bugging out of his head. The entire forest sounded like it was in pain now.

Off to the right, there was a smoldering glow. Apparently Scamp was trying to make themself scarce.

The incineration of Edwin Blake came to an explosive conclusion and, when the flames vanished, there was nothing left but a pile of ashes and a few tiny stray flames.

Scamp hurried over and stomped them out.

“Did you…?” Robbie panted. “Did you...did you do that?”

Scamp gave Robbie an imploring look and shook himself.

“I’m going to take that as a...no?”

Scamp bobbed up and down.

Robbie peered at the sooty spot where Edwin had been standing minutes before.

The plastic handle of the pocket knife had melted away but the blade, a small shining triangle, was left atop the ashes. The heat and flames had left an iridescent pattern on it that looked uncannily like an eye, bowtie and brickwork.

“ _Fuck!"_

And that was what finally made Robbie turn and flee, not worrying about the small branches that slapped against his arms and face as he ran.

Scamp followed, unaware of exactly what it was that had finally caused their newfound friend to run in terror, but whole-heartedly supporting the terror-running just the same.


	6. NEVER MANDELA ALL THAT

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mysteries abound! Dipper and Mabel deal with their mother's mysterious affliction, while Wendy and Robbie do some investigating and cross paths with Grenda. Dipper has a very weird interview with a representative from West Coast Tech, Mabel has an energy drink and tries to ward off a breakdown. Wendy and Robbie go to the library and begin to fear that they are the only ones who remember Weirdmageddon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd be remiss if I didn't thank two of my former coworkers for their "contributions" to this chapter back when I was first drafting it in 2017. Thanks both of you! You and your fictional sandwich shop are now immortalized!

“She’s awake,” said a doctor in a white coat and surgeon’s cap, as he stood imposingly in front of the Pines. “And she’s stable. Still pretty incoherent, though. And a bit disoriented. We’re running a few more tests and still trying to find out exactly what happened.”

Another doctor, this one a woman, appeared, carrying a clipboard. She was wearing blue flannel and her hair was held in a bun by a syringe.

“You wanted to see me, doc?”

“Oh yes. Um,” the first doctor suddenly seemed incredibly flustered. “Hello, Furry.” He turned beet red.

Doctor Furry pointed at him and addressed the Pines in a stage whisper.

 _"I have_ _that effect on people."_

Nobody knew exactly how to respond to this, so they were not inclined to argue. 

“Uh...Doctor Furry happened to be on-location at the time of your wife’s collapse. It’s thanks to her that we were able to respond as fast as we did.”

“So…” Palmer said faintly. “What do we _think_ happened?”

“Definitely something neurological,” Furry said. “We’re just not sure exactly what yet. Does it bother you to hear?”

Palmer shook his head. “Go on.”

Furry nodded. “Well, she kind of...vocalized and went rigid.”

Dipper felt Mabel’s grip on his arm tighten. They all knew that the doctor was using the word “vocalized” because it sounded less traumatic than “screamed.”

“She collapsed on the spot and kind of,” Furry grimaced. “Convulsed. I ran over and started working on her immediately, and called the hospital.”

“I…” Palmer began. “I’m just grateful there was a medical professional on-site when it happened.”

Furry bit her lip like she was holding herself back. “I’m really tempted to make a joke about being medically _un_ -professional, but that would be inappropriate. I’m really bad at this.”

“But by saying that, you _are_ making a joke,” Dipper said, caught between confusion and intrigue. Maybe it was just the flannel, but there was something about Furry that distinctively reminded him of Wendy.

“Doctor Furry is not a _medical_ doctor,” the first doctor explained. “But she has significant EMT and first-responder training. She just happens to be in town for other business.”

“Not the least of which is that Doctor Hughes resigned his teaching position to open a sandwich shop,” Furry said. “It’s called Enjoy Every Sandwich and he’s got this toaster that burns Warren Zevon’s likeness onto every slice of bread.”

_"Doctor Furry."_

Furry nodded and tapped her clipboard.

“I’ll meet you in my office.”

Both the first doctor and Dipper looked a little sad to see her leave.

Mabel elbowed Dipper in the ribs.

***

“Dude, it’s like five in the morning,” Wendy said. “You’re lucky my Dad didn’t just open the door and punch you in the face.”

“You weren’t answering your phone,” Robbie said.

He was standing on the doorstep of the Corduroy cabin, pale and shaking.

Wendy peered sleepily at him, her hair an unruly mess. 

“Robbie, you look like shit.”

“Can we talk?”

Wendy frowned. It wasn’t the first time Robbie had showed up at her door, asking that question. Before, however, it had always been regarding their relationship. But that was over (right?) and, given the circumstances of their Gideon surveillance the night before, it did make sense that they should talk and compare notes.

At this hour of the morning, though?

Wendy ran a hand across her eyes. “I’ll put some coffee on.”

Robbie followed her inside.

***

It was another hour before anyone was allowed to see Eleanor.

“So the good news is, all scans and bloodwork results are within normal limits.”

Palmer narrowed his eyes at the doctor suspiciously.

“You’re implying that there’s some bad news.”

“Well,” the doctor said. “There does appear to be some mild amnesia.”

Dipper’s blood went cold. “Is it a concussion?”

“Shhh, Dipper,” his father said. “He said the brain scans are fine.”

“Yeah, that’s just it,” the doctor said, scratching his head and displacing his surgical cap. “We’re working on it, though. She does have a fever, so that _could_ be a contributing factor.”

He did not, Dipper noted, look convinced.

“So how significant of amnesia are we talking about here?” Palmer asked.

At the same time, Mabel was shouting _"_ _Does she remember_ _US?"_

“Well she knows what year it is and that her name is Eleanor. The particulars of her work, though, are a bit fuzzy and she thinks the president is...some guy I’ve never even heard of. But the most concerning thing is,” the doctor looked pityingly at Mabel. “I’m not sure she _does_ remember you at the moment.”

“Doctor!” Dipper cried. “Did Doctor Furry see any beams of blue light or weird-looking guns?”

 _"Dipper!"_ Palmer hissed.

“What about men in red hoods? Maybe with pictures of crossed-out eyes on them?”

 _"Dipper!"_ Palmer grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him. “Those are Mabel’s fantasy stories! Don’t you lose your mind on me, too!”

“Eleanor hasn’t lost her mind,” the doctor said. “She’s still recovering. And it’s normal for family to react to distressing news in such ways. Retreating into a fantasy world is a perfectly normal response.”

Dipper impulsively glanced towards Mabel, but she was laser-focused on a spot on the floor near her feet.

“Don’t,” Palmer said to Dipper. “Please.”

Dipper took a deep breath.

“I’m sorry,” the doctor said. “I just wanted to warn you.”

He opened the door to a generic-looking hospital room and the little family filed in.

Eleanor lay on a bed, with the back elevated so she could sit up. A monitor recorded her vitals via an epic tangle of cords, and there was the steady hum and hiss of an oxygen machine.

She looked at them with as much focus as she could muster.

“Eleanor, your family is here to see you,” the doctor said kindly.

Tears began streaming down Eleanor’s face. 

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m just...really confused right now.”

“Do you,” the doctor asked cautiously. “Remember them now?”

He’d obviously been hoping the appearance of her family would trigger some sort of recognition.

“I’m sorry,” Eleanor said. “I don’t know these people.”

“It’s okay. These things can take time.”

Eleanor gave him a strange look, like not only did she not believe his words, she didn’t _want_ to believe them.

“I’ll leave you four to it,” the doctor said. “They can catch you up on your life.” To Palmer, he added quietly. “Call the nurse’s station if _anything_ changes.”

He left, the door to the hospital room closing behind him with a soft _click_.

“I don’t understand what’s happening,” Eleanor said.

“Don’t worry about it,” Palmer said. He went to run a hand through her hair and then stopped, seeing the look of alarm on her face.

“We LOVE you!” Mabel cried, her own tears starting to flow freely.

“You just need rest and time,” Palmer said.

“And pictures!” Mabel scrolled through her phone, showing her mother image after image. “It worked for Grunkle Stan, it’ll work for you! It has to!”

“Oh no, _Mabel,"_ Palmer said, as Eleanor only looked more upset.

“It _has_ to work,” Mabel said, pleadingly.

“I’m sure it’s not permanent,” Palmer said. “Mabel, please sit.”

Mabel took a couple of steps backwards, and plopped into a chair that could be folded into a cot. She crossed her arms and stared determinedly in front of her.

Although she was clearly tired, Eleanor did not sleep. Wearing an expression so similar to Mabel’s that it hurt, she lay back and glared at the ceiling, listening to the incessant hums and beeps of medical machinery.

***

Their second cups of coffee down to the last dregs, Wendy was now feeling very much more awake. She wasn’t sure how much was from the morning caffeine, though, and how much was from Robbie’s account of the night before.

“I shouldn’t have left you back there,” she said into her mug. “The Harassers just went back to the Roach Dump B&B. That was really uncool of me, ditching you like that.”

“Nah, Wendy. You’re the coolest person anyone knows.”

“Very funny, Rob. This could be serious, though. Do you really think this could be related to... _Bill?"_

She said the name in a whisper, as if she didn’t quite trust herself to even speak the name.

Robbie hated anything that could make Wendy fearful.

“If it _is,_ I’m going to kick his ass right back to the Nightmare Dimension.”

Wendy laughed. “No offense, Robbie, but kicking people’s asses has never been your strong point.”

“Bill isn’t a people,” Robbie pointed out.

“Right. Can I say something?”

“Uh... _yeah?"_

“And you promise not to get super mad at me?”

“Duh. Of course.”

“Do you think there’s a chance that you got so irrationally freaked out about seeing this dude spontaneously combust that your brain just made you see Bill burned into a perfectly innocent knife blade?”

“I can’t believe you just said the words ‘irrationally freaked out’ and followed them with ‘about seeing a dude spontaneously combust’.”

Wendy snorted into her near-empty coffee cup. “Point taken. But I think you get what I’m saying.”

Robbie sighed. “Okay, you got me. I was totally sure what I saw, but it _was_ dark and I _was_ freaked out. Like, a lot.”

“We could always go back.”

 _"Hell_ no! I intend to sit right here and drink eighteen pots of coffee until my brain is fast enough to catch up with the universe.”

“But seriously, think about it. We could just go _see_ whether an image of Bill got burned into that pocket knife.”

“Still not onboard.”

_"Robbie..."_

“Okay, I’m a coward.”

“I wasn’t saying that…”

“I’d honestly just discuss _why_ the scorch-marks looked like...you know.”

“Robbie, that’s something I really do _not_ want to talk about. Or even think about.”

“Yeah fair enough. Tell the truth, you’re kinda’ making me second guess myself.”

“But…” Wendy took a long sip of the rest of her coffee. “On whole, I’d rather know.”

“Ugh. Of course you would.”

There was a loud knock on the door.

“Uh...your Dad?”

“Hardly. It’s his own house, remember. He just punches the door open, wielding an axe and screaming. I bet it’s the wolf people again.”

“Werewolves?” Robbie asked, confused.

“Worse,” Wendy said as she got up from the table and approached the door. “Way worse.”

She opened the door and revealed three people with dark robes and T-shirts emblazoned with images of crosshairs over pictures of snarling wolves.

“We are the Wolf Cult...I mean _Wildlife_ Cult! We don’t have anything about wolves in our name, so you can’t actually accuse us of being about wolves!” they chanted.

“Did they…” Robbie began. “All make the same mistake in their chant?”

“We never make mistakes. We only support wildlife because we are the Wildlife Cult. Wolves are not wildlife. They’ll cut you up into small pieces and put you in little jars under the ground!”

Wendy slammed the door in their faces.

“See what I mean?”

“Uh…”

A huge, angry face popped through the kitchen window.

“WAS THAT THE WOLF PEOPLE AGAIN?”

“Morning, Dad,” Wendy said to the angry face.

“I MUST GO!”

_"Dad..."_

“WE MUST CHASE THE WOLVES TOGETHER! COME ON, BOYS! HUUUUUUNT!”

“I don’t think they _really_ want to chase wolves…” Wendy said calmly, as her brothers awoke with battle cries and took off howling into the forest. “Though Rufus swears he saw a wolf walking around on two legs like a person this week.”

“I always forget your house is like this,” Robbie muttered.

“Yeah, never dull. C’mon, we got a pile of ashes and a possibly apocalyptic pocket knife to find.”

***

“Just...can you tell me what you do remember?” Dipper quietly asked his mother. “Do you have _any_ memory of what happened?”

Eleanor looked at him with the same blank and unfamiliar expression she’d worn when she first set eyes on her family.

“Well…” she said. “That’s the thing, isn’t it? I remember everything that happened. I just don’t remember _you."_

The words stung worse than a slap in the face but Dipper tried his best to ignore them, and pressed on.

“Yes, I got that. But if you can remember what happened, maybe we can help you. There might be a clue.”

Eleanor wrinkled her nose in a manner Dipper didn’t think he’d ever seen his mother do before.

“I don’t think I need help.”

“But you _do!_ For _us!"_

“For you? I’m pretty sure you’re really pesky hallucination. What drugs do they have me on, again?”

She didn’t really seem to be asking Dipper.

“I don’t know…” he began.

“Never mind. You’re not real.”

“But I _am!_ We’re all real!”

“Then where did the others go?”

“They had to...leave.”

Mabel and Palmer had left about half an hour earlier. Palmer had _said_ he had a few things to take care of at the house, but it was clear he just needed to get out for a while.

Mabel, who had been handling everything shockingly well following her first outburst, announced that she had to be at school early, which made no sense because West Coast Tech wasn’t there to meet _her_ today.

Eleanor sighed.

“Okay,” Dipper said, propping his elbows on the rails of the hospital bed. “Say I am a figment of your imagination. Can you humor me for a minute? What do you remember about what happened at the grocery store?”

Eleanor appeared to consider this.

“I promise I’ll disappear as soon as you explain.”

“...Okay. Yeah, why not. I was in the grocery store to buy orange juice and I started to feel really dizzy and light-headed. Like I couldn’t focus. I took everything I had to remember that I was even there to buy orange juice. And there was this...person.”

“Person?” Dipper asked sharply. “Were they wearing a red hood?”

“...No. They weren’t really wearing anything. They weren’t really there. Just kind of visible impression. So I was standing there about to lose consciousness and I tried to get a good look at it and…”

Eleanor’s expression became distant.

“Mom, are you okay?” Dipper asked.

“Pain,” Eleanor said slowly. “When I touched it, tried to get a better look, it was like being ripped apart at the seams. And then I woke up here.”

“Holy shit,” Dipper muttered, then slapped a hand over his mouth, remembering it was his mother he was talking about. “Sorry.”

But, of course, Eleanor didn’t even seem to notice. She didn’t remember him. Something about the experience had caused her to forget.

“This person,” he pressed. “Do you remember _anything_ about what they looked like?”

“I told you, just...Well they weren’t a hallucination. They weren’t actually there though. Just kind of a blurry figure. You could almost see through them.”

Like the figure at the Glitch House, Dipper thought.

What _were_ they? Ghosts, logically. But ghosts always showed up on his detecting devices. And, come to think of it, hadn’t Rachel-John complained of something similar in the back of their IGMD far, far in the future…?

***

Traversing the forest during the daylight was quite different from running blindly through it in a nighttime panic, following the attack and subsequent combustion of a strange man.

As Wendy and Robbie were quickly learning, finding the exact spot of the combustion was turning out to be near-impossible.

“Maybe Scamp could find the right spot,” Wendy said.

“I left them at home. They were kinda’ traumatized.”

“Your pet fire beast was traumatized? Are you sure you’re not projecting, Robbie?”

Robbie said nothing. He stared at the ground, looking for any telltale black marks or scorchings. Instead he just saw a number of small ferns crushed under his boots and felt really bad for them.

Wendy glanced around, also looking for any kinds of clues.

The morning light in the woods was odd. It was cloudy, but thin rays of sunshine were peeking through the breaks. Instead of making the scenery more cheerful, however, they cast a more ominous feel and made the surrounding clouds look blacker.

Wendy normally loved the way the woods looked different depending on the weather, but today she was on edge and didn’t like the implications of black clouds on the horizon.

“Get it together, Corduroy,” she told herself.

She was worried a bit for her family, out rampaging through the landscape. They were tough, of course, and they were frustrating and obnoxious, and she cared very deeply for them.

She also cared a lot about Robbie. His reappearance in town meant a lot to her - which was quite frankly scary. It seemed one of the constants in Wendy’s life was that people tended to just wander out of it. There were friends she’d been so close to once, and now she had no idea where they were.

Robbie had almost become one of those people and, now that she had him back for a while, she was worried about losing him all over again.

She glared at a ray of sunshine that was fading with the movement of the clouds.

“Hey!” Robbie called. “I think I found something!”

Instantly, Wendy’s attention snapped back to the issue at hand and she turned and dashed to where Robbie was peering down at something on the forest floor.

It wasn’t, however, a patch of cremains. It wasn’t a pocket knife either. It was a simple black cell phone in a heavy-duty case with the words ‘MODERN-DAY EXPLORER’ written on it.

Robbie picked it up, pressing the ‘on’ button.

“No charge.”

“Do you think it’s a clue?” Wendy asked.

“I think it’s a phone.”

“Oh very funny”

“We’re way off the main trail. Why would somebody leave their phone out here?”

“Maybe they had to take a piss and forgot it.”

“I mean, we’re _way_ off trail.”

“Maybe they _really_ wanted their privacy.”

“This has gotta’ be close to where I was last night,” Robbie said, scratching his head.

Wendy was starting to feel weirdly sick. “But surely you weren’t _this_ far away from everything. You said yourself, this is pretty far out for just wandering home. We keep going this way, we’ll end up way the hell into the wilderness.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Robbie said in defeat, leaning against a tree. “But come on. How hard can it be to find a freaking human-sized pile of ashes in the woods.”

“Apparently it’s harder than we thought,” Wendy said.

“You don’t believe me.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“But…”

“Rob, something odd is going on for sure. But as to what exactly it is…”

“Well, what do you think we should do?”

“I don’t know. I don’t feel good. I keep thinking about what Gideon said. M...maybe we should check the town hall and the records. I don’t think we’re going to find anything in the woods.

“Dude! Really? _You’re the one who wanted to come out here on this wild cremains chase!"_

“I know,” Wendy put her hands on her head. “But there’s something really, _really_ wrong here. I feel sick and I don’t like that rock.”

 _"Don't like_...Wendy, are you okay?”

“I…” Wendy shuddered as a wave a nausea and pain swept over her and she felt as if everything were shifting and reshaping against her will. She’d felt that way once before, in a castle she didn’t care to remember.

Her instinct was to fall to the ground and curl in a fetal position, but something told her that this wasn’t a good idea.

“Wendy? Wendy? Ugh... _god."_

Robbie, who had sprinted to her side, fell to the ground, apparently suddenly hit with the same wave of badness.

Wendy gritted her teeth. “Okay, not today.”

She grabbed Robbie’s arm and, with mild difficulty, pulled him to his feet. “We gotta’ get out of here.”

“It’s curtains for us,” Robbie mumbled, barely conscious.

“You’re no help.”

Wendy’s body was screaming for her to give up, and it would have been so easy...except she had the distinct feeling that giving in wouldn’t be any less physically painful than her other options.

Setting her jaw, she hoisted Robbie across her shoulders and ran. She nearly puked from the nausea and pain. Something was wrong with her eyes, or maybe it was just something wrong with the world. She was getting double vision and things seemed to swim in and out of focus and drift just to the side.

The out-of-place rock was back in its proper place, the leaves flashed to a different shade of green and back again.

“Don’t trip, Corduroy,” Wendy told herself. “Don’t. Fucking. Trip.”

As she fled, the feeling of sickness faded and she was left with a growing feeling of her least favorite sensation. Weakness.

Her legs gave out when she reached the road and she collapsed flat on her face in the ditch. Robbie toppled beside her, mumbling about never wanting to do that again.

Wendy couldn’t bring herself to respond. They were safe now, she was certain. Her job was done for the time being. 

Whatever force was rippling through the woods wasn’t gone. She guessed they’d have to face it at some future point but, at the moment, this would have to do for a victory.

A gentle rain began to fall, hardly more than a mist but enough to dampen everything down.

Wendy could feel it trickling down her neck. She didn’t care. If anything, the coolness was soothing.

A bird sang somewhere, echoing through the woods. It was so serene, so peaceful. Wendy distantly wondered what it would be like to just seep into the forest itself and become part of it.

Far away, she was aware of a sound. At first she attribute to the wind, but it grew louder and was too steady to be wind. As it grew steadily closer, she finally recognized it as tires on the road.

There was a vehicle coming.

Great.

There was a chance the driver either wouldn’t see or would ignore the two bodies lying in the ditch.

There was screech of brakes and tires.

No such luck.

A gruff voice shouted. “WHAT THE?!? WAIT, _WENDY?"_

The voice was familiar but Wendy’s brain hurt trying to place it. She thought she should lift her head and acknowledge the owner of the loud voice but actually doing either of these things was a little beyond her capability at the moment.

A car door slammed and footsteps crunched the grass and shook the ground. A pair of strong hands grasped Wendy’s shoulders and flipped her over.

_"Wendy!"_

“Uh…” Wendy began.

“Oh thank _god!"_ a young woman said, stomping her foot. “I thought you were dead and I’d have to deal with _that!_ Hey, is that Robbie?”

There was only one woman that Wendy knew who spoke that aggressively and thunderously in normal conversation.

“G...Grenda?”

“The ONE AND ONLY!” Grenda crowed. “The fact that you have to ask worries me, though. Are you hung over or something?"

“Something,” Robbie said, pushing himself up on his elbows.

“UGH!” Grenda said. “When did _you_ get back to town.”

“Uh... _ouch,"_ Robbie said. For the moment, he seemed in better shape than Wendy. 

Of course, he hadn’t just used up the last of his strength running through the woods, carrying another person, while trying not to throw up or faint.

Speaking of which…

The mere thought sent a wave of nausea straight to Wendy’s stomach and she flipped herself back over and heaved violently.

“UGH! GROSS!” Grenda said.

Robbie looked over in concern but knew better than to try to be of help or comfort. He’d learned from past experiences not to try to talk to Wendy when she was in this kind of situation.

Well, not this kind of situation specifically, but activities ending in results along the same lines.

“Too many damn drinks,” Grenda said, in what Wendy knew to be a sympathetic tone, but had to have a keen ear to tell.

“Uh, Grenda,” Wendy said, clenching her hand on a clump of roadside weeds. “Could we...like...get a ride into town...if it's not too much trouble?”

“Oh SURE THING, Wendy. Just hop inside THE GRENDA-MOBILE!”

She gestured to her vehicle and, sitting up shakily, Wendy took a look at it for the first time.

“Grenda? Is that one of those tiny cars from Europe?”

“IT IS!” Grenda cried. “Marius shipped it to me when I got my driver’s license.”

Robbie snickered.

“You got something to say about my car, hangover boy?” Grenda demanded.

“Uh, no? It’s just...not what I pictured you driving.”

“It’s ENVIRONMENTALLY FRIENDLY,” Grenda said, as she opened the door and settled herself into the driver’s seat.

“Are we seriously all three going to fit in there?” Wendy asked.

“Oh come _on."_

Grenda roughly grabbed both Wendy and Robbie and practically dragged them into the cramped vehicle.

“Hey, awkward,” Robbie said, scrambling so that he wasn’t literally on top of the other two occupants.

“Just don’t puke on me,” Grenda told Wendy. “That goes for you to, Robbie.”

Robbie, who was folding himself into something resembling a pretzel behind the front seats, gave her a thumbs-up.

“Good. Okay guys, welcome to the Grenda-Mobile. There are two exits, one pilot, and your seat cushions don’t float. Please keep your fingers and toes inside of the vehicle until such time as it has come to a complete halt.”

The engine revved to life and Grenda _gunned_ it.

“Geez, Grenda!” Wendy said. “I mean, I approve, but…”

“Let me know if I’m taking these curves too _fast,"_ Grenda said, tipping the tiny car on two wheels as she swung around a forested hairpin turn. 

Wendy lowered the passenger window just enough to let in a small stream of outside air.

“Actually, I’m feeling a ton better now. I don’t think I’ll be weight-lifting any time soon, but...yeah. I’m good.”

“How’s Candy?” Robbie asked.

“Whoah,” Wendy said. “When did you become Mr. Social Small Talk?”

“Dude, I’m just _asking."_

“Candy?” Grenda said, giving Robbie a weird look in the rearview mirror. “Candy’s _amazing,_ of course. Always has been, always will be. Duh.”

Wendy laughed, although something was bothering her about the way Grenda was talking. She just couldn’t figure out what it was yet.

“So what were you two doing _drunk_ out in the _woods?"_ Grenda asked. “You back together or what?”

“Uh...I don’t think so?” Robbie said, uncertainly.

“We weren’t exactly drunk, either,” Wendy admitted. “Something weird happened in the forest. We were spying on Gideon last night…”

“UGH! GIDEON!” Grenda roared, nearly ripping the steering wheel from the dash. “He’s ALWAYS hanging around now like he’s some kind of BODY BUILDER. It’s disgusting.”

“Now Grenda,” Wendy said teasingly. “I thought you liked guys with great abs.”

“Not if they’re Gideon. Then they’re just CREEPY ABS!”

Wendy burst out laughing. Her sides were already sore from the mysterious force in the woods, but she couldn’t help herself.

“So where are you headed?” Grenda asked, rolling down main street. “Grenda’s Taxi Service can take you _anywhere."_

“Actually,” Wendy said. “The library would be a good place to start.”

“Oh lame,” Grenda said, but complied, parking the car illegally on the library’s front lawn.

“You wanna’ join us?” Wendy asked. “We’re kind of investigating something.”

 _"Do_ I!” Grenda roared.

The three awkwardly climbed out of the car and walked across the lawn. Wendy inwardly felt both angry and ashamed at how wobbly she still was.

“So guys, what’re we investigating?”

“Gideon was talking to the _Ghost Harassers_ crew last night,” Robbie began.

 _"Ghost Harassers?"_ Grenda cried. “Their lead investigator is so HOT.”

“Grenda, you’re practically engaged,” Wendy said.

“My relationship status doesn’t stop him from existing and radiating his hotness everywhere.”

“As I was _saying,"_ Robbie said, annoyed. “Gideon claims the evidence of Weirdmageddon has vanished…”

“Which is ridiculous,” Wendy said. “I mean, you can cover it up but you can’t _completely_ cover it up. There’s evidence _everywhere."_

“So what are we talking about?” Grenda asked. 

Both Robbie and Wendy looked at her strangely.

“Uh, Weirdmageddon?” Robbie said.

Wendy glanced around to make sure there were no bystanders who might be overhearing and reporting them.

“I don’t know what that is,” Grenda said. “But it sounds _epic."_

“Grenda, seriously,” Wendy hissed. “You can cut the Never Mind All That crap. This is _us_ you’re talking to.”

“The never mind all what, now?”

“The Never Mind All That Act!”

Grenda laughed. “That sounds like something X-rated. Which I’m totally here for.”

_"Grenda!"_

“They keep it at the library, huh. I should’ve KNOWN. Don’t you think it’ll be awkward with all three of us though?”

“Grenda, we’re not going to the library to watch _porn!"_ Wendy all but shouted.

“Seriously,” Robbie said.

He pushed open the library door as Wendy rounded on Grenda.

“Come on, _please,"_ she said as quietly as possible. “This isn’t funny. Weirdmageddon? Bill Cipher?”

“Who?”

“Giant screaming one-eyed triangle who took over the entire town?” Wendy sounded desperate now.

“Oh _that,"_ Grenda said, with a laugh. “Nope, I don’t remember that happening. Maybe I was out of town.”

“Brainwashing,” Robbie said.

“The Society,” Wendy said. “They must be active again. Watch out for creeps in red hoods.”

“Like you?”

“I said red hoods, not red- _heads."_

“Can I help you?” the suspicious-looking librarian asked as the trio approached the desk.

“Yeah,” Wendy said. “We’re doing a research project on past events and wanted to look at some newspaper archives. From four years ago.”

The librarian looked like he wanted to protest, but instead led them to a study table.

“Wait here,” he said, and walked off.

“Well he doesn’t seem to like us very much,” Grenda said in what was, for her, a quiet voice but still fairly loud by library standards.

“Yeah,” Robbie said. “He probably remembers that time I spray-painted _‘Lame-Brarian’_ on his car.”

Wendy snorted.

“Yeah,” Grenda said. “That’d do it.”

“I swear,” Wendy said. “If Lame-Brarian shows up with newspapers and some of them are mysteriously missing…”

“I’M BACK!” the librarian cried, returning with a large archive box of newspapers. “I have all the papers you requested! They’re all here and accounted for! None have suspiciously vanished.”

“There goes your theory, Wendy,” Grenda said.

The librarian slammed the box down onto the table and walked backwards into the stacks, glaring at them.

“At least they’re physical papers,” Robbie said. “And not microfilm. Never could get the hang of microfilm.”

“Okay,” Wendy said. “Shouldn’t have to look far. The Never Mind All That Act was on the front page on August thirtieth”

She flipped through the papers.

“Yeah, I remember,” Robbie said. “It had that big picture of the mayor under the Never Mind All That banner.”

“Oh yeah,” Wendy said. “He looked so derpy in that picture.”

“The _what_ banner?” Grenda asked.

“August thirtieth, here we go,” Wendy said, pulling the paper from the box and slamming it on the table in front of Grenda so loudly that it caused the librarian to hiss from deep within the stacks. “You can’t tell me you forgot _this!"_

Grenda picked up the paper. “‘Mayor Cutebiker Stubs Toe and Picks Nose at Local Town Fundraiser’,” she read. “God, I _wish_ I could forget it.”

“Wait, what?” Wendy yelped, snatching the paper back.

Instead of the photo of Mayor Cutebiker standing under the Never Mind All That banner in front of the townsfolk, the front page was taken up by a huge photo of him picking his nose and stubbing his toe.

“Well he does look derpy,” Grenda pointed out. “You got that part right.”

“This isn’t…” Wendy flipped quickly through the pages of the edition.

“Uh, maybe it’s the wrong day,” Robbie said.

“Yeah, yeah, must’ve been mistaken,” Wendy laughed worriedly. “Must’ve been August thirty-first.”

She retrieved the next edition of the paper from the archive box and spread out the front page to reveal huge headlines that read _‘MOST NORMAL DAY IN RECORDED HISTORY.'_

Below it was a picture of the town looking exactly as it did on any other day.

“Uh,” Wendy said, throwing the paper aside. “September first? August twenty-ninth? Twenty-eighth? I didn’t think we even _had_ these editions! There was nobody in town to _write_ them!”

“I’m starting to think there was more than alcohol involved in whatever you two were up to last night,” Grenda muttered.

“HEY!” Robbie all but shouted, causing a psychotic screech to emanate from the stacks, signaling the return of the librarian, who emerged in a great fury.

“That’s our exit sign,” Wendy said, leaping from the table and making a beeline for the door, followed very closely by her two friends.

“Robbie, you didn’t have to be so loud,” she said once they were safely outside.

“I’m freaked out, Wendy,” he defended himself. “And I saw you in there, you’re about to panic and collapse! I know you’re not gripping that railing right now because _you_ need to hold _it_ up.”

Wendy frowned at her hands, but didn’t let go. Her strength had not returned and she hadn’t done herself any favors by fleeing the library in a hurry.

“What the hell’s going on, Robbie? Why doesn’t Grenda remember? Why don’t the _newspapers_ remember?”

“M...maybe we’re dreaming.”

“You or me?”

“OH CRAP!” Grenda roared.

Wendy and Robbie jumped and, looking in the direction that Grenda was staring, saw Sheriff Blubs and Deputy Durland out on the library’s lawn, holding the tiny car aloft and carrying it away.

“That’s what you get if you have a tiny-ass car,” Robbie said seriously.

“Wait!” Wendy said. “Ask them…”

“Oh,” Robbie said. _Oh."_ he took off after Blubs and Durland. “HEY! YOU WITH THE HAND-CUFFS AND LIGHT-UP CARS!”

Wendy looked back at the library’s glass doors and saw the librarian standing furiously behind them, salivating and gnashing his teeth at her. She was fairly certain he couldn’t get out, but the sight was still unnerving. She began to follow after Robbie, somewhat unsteadily.

“Don’t overexert yourself!” Grenda said in alarm. “Let _me_ help you.”

She grabbed one of Wendy’s arms and pulled it over her shoulder. Wendy was instantly steadied but not entirely happy about it.

“This is so embarrassing, Grenda.”

“Now now! Even the strongest need help now and then.”

They approached where the two police officers had deposited the car on the sidewalk and were facing Robbie.

“This here your car, Robert?” Blubs asked.

“What? No!” Robbie cried, raising his palms in defense. “You seriously think _I’d_ drive something like that?”

“I think that sounds just like something someone who’d drive a car like this would say,” Blubs said. “Wouldn’t you say, Durland?”

“I’d say so, babe.”

“Honey, it’s adorable when you call me ‘babe’ when we’re on-duty.”

“Awww…”

“Oh my god, it’s _my_ car!” Grenda cried.

“Grenda,” Wendy muttered, stomping her ineffectively on the foot. “Don’t incriminate yourself.”

“If I didn’t stop them, they were going to get even more adorable. I don’t think I could stand it.”

“Point taken.”

“Nice try, Grenda,” Durland said. “But we all aknow you’re...you’re... _you’re too young to drive."_

“Microphone _drop,"_ Blubs added. “Case closed.”

“I’m, like, seventeen!” Grenda protested.

“Okay, forget the car for, like, half a minute…” Robbie began.

“Oh, you’d like that wouldn’t you,” Blubs said accusingly.

“You’d like us to forget aaaaallllll about it,” Durland added.

Robbie ignored them and continued. “Our question, is whether you remember the events of late August…”

“Who do you think you are?” Blubs demanded. “Us?”

“God, I hope not,” said Wendy.

“I know we’re grossly violating the Never Mind All That Act in front of two officers of the law,” Robbie said. “Which just this moment occurred to me is a terrible idea.”

“The Never Mind All That Act?” Durland asked, sounding more confused than normal.

“Kids,” Blubs said. “We know the town laws and rules like we know each other’s favorite ice cream flavor…”

“Rocky road!” Durland cried.

“Right on a first try! But, as I was saying, I know every Act in Gravity Falls, and there ain’t no ‘Never Mind All That’ Act.”

“Wait,” Robbie said. “You’re saying it doesn’t exist or that the Act itself says you can’t, like, say it exists?”

“Weirdmageddon!” Wendy cried.

“Weird-a- _whatnow?"_

“Seriously? _Nothing?"_

“Guys,” Grenda said. “You’re my friends, or at least Wendy is, but you’re really getting wacked out over this whole shebang. This thing you say happened? I don’t think it happened. You take some soy sauce or something?”

“A FREAKING INTERDIMENSIONAL TRIANGLE TOOK OVER THE ENTIRE TOWN AND TURNED YOU ALL INTO A...A BIG STONE THINGY!” Wendy shouted, trying to leap forward, only to be held back by Grenda.

“Corduroy, you cray-cray,” Blubs said. “That never happened. And we’d remember something like that happenin’, wouldn’t we, Durland?”

“Oh yeah,” Durland said. “We wouldn’ forget that if it happened.”

“It was August four years ago,” Robbie said.

“I remember that August. Mayor Cutebiker got elected and then he stubbed his toe and picked his nose.”

“He did?” Durland asked.

“Of course he did! How could you forget something like that?”

“I mean, it ain’t exactly front-page news what a mayor does with his nose and toes,” Durland said. 

“It was,” said Grenda. “It was literally front-page news.”

“Dang. Must’ve been a slow week…?”

“This is crazy!” Wendy cried. “I didn’t just _make up_ living through the apocalypse!”

“Me neither,” Robbie agreed. “I kind of have a stomach ache from this whole thing. Or maybe that was from the woods thing this morning.”

“I’m thinkin’ you need to cut down on the crazy sauce,” Sheriff Blubs said seriously. “You’re starting to sound like... _you-know-who."_

“Who…?” Wendy was confused for a moment but then realization hit her and she nearly exploded. “Oh don’t even _compare_ me to her!”

“Then don’t talk like her,” Blubs advised.

And without another word, he and Durland picked up the car and continued walking away with it.

“You uh, gonna’ try and get that back?” Robbie asked, glancing between the receding car and Grenda.

But Grenda looked furious for an entirely different reason.

“Oh my god, Wendy. I can’t believe he compared you…”

“To be honest, that might not be such a bad idea. This is kind of up NorPac’s alley.”

“NorPac?” Robbie asked. “The internet conspiracy theorist person?”

“Internet conspiracy theorist?” Wendy laughed. “Robbie, don’t you _know..."_

She was interrupted by an explosive vociferation from Grenda.

“COME ON, WENDY! YOU CAN’T PUT ANY STOCK IN HER! DID YOU EVEN _WATCH_ THAT VIDEO LAST MONTH?”

“Grenda. _Grenda!"_ Wendy raised her hands. “Let’s not argue. I don’t think my head can take it. We gotta’ solve this logically.”

“The Shack!” Robbie said, snapping his fingers. “Do you _know_ how much Weirdmageddon evidence there has got to be in that place?”

“Good point,” Wendy said. “I was there a couple of days ago or yesterday or whenever it was. Grendanator? You up for a Mystery Shack visit?”

“I’d almost rather you two took a visit to the _hospital_ . I’m really starting to _worry_ about you.”

“Yeah, no shit,” Wendy said. “So am I. And I don’t like it. But Robbie’s got a point. The Shack’s, like, Ground Zero for Weirdmageddon. The amount of stuff there’ll prove we aren’t crazy.”

“If you say so,” Grenda said. “But I’m gonna’ lay _money_ that Soos thinks you’re crazy, too…”

***

“What does it all mean,” Dipper said aloud as he wrote in his journal, sitting alone in the school hallway, leaning against his locker.

It had been a very long time since he’d written in his journal. Mabel had gifted it to him at the end of their Summer in Gravity Falls and he’d begun writing in it immediately. Back then he was excited and enthusiastic about what the future might hold, and was determined to document everything. He’d written entries on half of the journal’s pages by December but, with school life and the distinct lack of paranormal anomalies in his region of California, the entries had become less and less frequent.

The last one had been ten months ago and was short and to the point:

_‘Wow, I haven’t written in this thing for a long time. No recent encounters and still waiting for word from Great Uncle Ford and Grunkle Stan.'_

Dipper had been meaning to write something about the Glitch House, but then the time travelers had happened and Mabel’s scheme to find Blendin was a thing and there was just _so much_ to write.

Catching up had become a daunting project in light of trying to ready himself for the interview with West Coast Tech. 

Somehow it was his mother’s predicament that had finally driven him to write. The emotional toll it was already taking on the Pines was immense, and writing was something that allowed Dipper to express and analyze (and probably over-analyze) his thoughts and feelings.

It was ironic he was doing it now, when he could be called in to see the recruiter from West Coast Tech at any point.

 _‘It would seem that there has been an increase in undetectable ghosts,'_ Dipper wrote. _‘Since they do not seem to match any of the categories described by Uncle Ford, I believe they may exist in their own category.'_

He sat back and bonked his head against the locker much harder than he’d intended to.

“Ow.”

He then proceeded to chew on the end of his pen until a term suddenly came to him and he returned to the journal.

_‘For the time being, I have decided to call these uncategorized ghosts “specters”.'_

With a nod to himself, Dipper turned to the next page and headed it with _‘SPECTERS’_ in large letters.

He then settled in to draw his own rendition of the specter he’d seen at the Glitch House. It wasn’t the most difficult thing he had ever drawn, by any means. It was merely a featureless silhouette. It was, however, the first anomaly that he’d ever cataloged in Piedmont (aside from a mis-shapen french fry that Mabel had been really excited about). The only other entries on particular subjects in this journal were about school teachers, fellow students and the neighbor’s cat.

 _‘Shadow people of the Glitch House and beyond,'_ Dipper sub-headlined, before getting into the description. _‘In a class by themselves, these ghosts seem to be increasing in prevalence and activity - possibly as far into the future as 207̃17. The reason for this widespread increase is unknown. Further research required.'_

He nodded in approval at his own writing and then read aloud as he added _"They_ _cannot be detected by traditional methods, but their mere presence can trigger nausea, a feeling of disorientation and possibly a full-on neurological event_ -AAAAAGHH! MABEL!”

“Hiya Dips!” Mabel’s grin was huge and a bit deranged. She had heavy shadows under her eyes and a massive fruit-punch-flavored energy drink in her left hand.

Dipper snapped his journal shut and scrambled to his feet.

“Mabes! You scared the crap out of me!”

“Only one of the many sisterly services I provide!” Mabel cried proudly, waving the energy drink a bit too enthusiastically so that some of the liquid splashed onto the floor. Dipper was fairly certain he saw some of it start to eat away at the tile, and made a mental note to give the drink its own journal entry.

“That was really great drawing of a see-through shadow you were working on,” Mabel commented. “If it were me, of course, I’d have given it much better fashion sense.”

“Mabel, it’s a Specter. They _are_ like shadows, and I’m pretty sure they don’t have fashion sense or whatever.”

“Oh poo.”

“Oh poo nothing.”

Dipper opened his locker and placed the journal inside.

“Wow, someone’s Mr. Crabby-Pants this morning,” Mabel said.

“Well _some_ -one’s had way too much carbonated caffeine. And what’s _wrong_ with you? How are you even functioning with Mom in the state she is?”

Dipper instantly regretted mentioning their mother.

Mabel’s smile fell immediately from her face and, without it, she looked like a terrified and distraught young woman who badly needed a good night’s sleep or twenty.

“If...if I…” Mabel began, her voice starting to shake. “If I’m not _me,_ then how can I help Mom? How can I help anybody? I have to pretend like SOMETHING’S normal, Dipper!”

“Shit, I’m sorry, Mabel,” Dipper said, grabbing her shoulders and pulling her into a hug. “I guess we’re both having trouble dealing with this.”

“Pffft!” Mabel said tearfully into his shoulder. “I’m dealing with it perfectly. I don’t know what you’re getting at.”

“Mabel, you’re dumping your energy drink on my back.”

“Ooops,” Mabel half-sobbed, half giggled. “You should absorb it through your skin, it’d probably do you good.”

“You should probably invent something like that,” Dipper said, after she finally let go. He felt a bit like he’d been held in a vice grip. It was easy to forget how strong Mabel was, and he was pretty certain that _she_ often forgot this too, when hugging people.

Mabel narrowed her eyes, the smile starting to reappear on her face. “Who says I _haven’t_ invented it?”

Dipper had no response, so he just shook his head, feeling a smile of his own forming.

“Now where were we?” Mabel continued. “Oh yes!” She slapped an arm around Dipper’s shoulder. “Come with me! I have someone I need to introduce you to.”

“Mabel, I’m waiting for my interview!”

“Jussst trust me, bro!”

Curious, Dipper let Mabel walk him down the hallway to…

“The cafeteria?”

“She says she likes a more informal setting to talk to potentials.”

The cafeteria was empty except for one table in the middle, where a woman in blue flannel was looking at her phone.

Dipper was completely confused, but Mabel dragged him confidently to the flannel-clad woman.

“I found him, Doc. He was hiding by his locker.”

“I wasn’t _hiding…_ ” Dipper began, but then stopped short. He hadn’t recognized the woman because she had her hair down but, when she looked up from her phone, her face and bright-rimmed glasses were unmistakable.

“Hang on, you were the one at the hospital yesterday.”

The woman held out her hand.

“Doctor T. M. Furry, West Coast Tech recruitment. Nice to meet you.”

“I...uh...wha…?”

“Your sister said you’d be like this.”

“Oh gosh, sorry. I just expected…”

“Stuffy dude with no sense of humor? Get with the times. And are you seriously going to leave me hanging here?”

She looked back and forth between Dipper and her outstretched hand.

“Sorry,” Dipper said, taking a seat across from Doctor Furry. “It’s just a...thing I have.”

He set his hands under the table.

“It’s...uh, nice to meet you, though.”

“Ugh, runs in the family,” Furry muttered. “Well hopefully it’s nice to meet you too. Mabel, if you don’t mind, I’d like to speak to your brother one-on-one.”

“Sure thing, Doctor,” Mabel said. “But you _are_ going to get me the name of that nail polish after, right?”

“You got it!” Furry said.

Dipper’s palms were beginning to sweat where he was now gripping the edge of the table.

Furry grinned. “Relax. I’m seriously not that scary.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. Look, I read your paper you submitted with your application. Top-notch stuff.”

“Uh...thanks?”

Furry opened a large, three-ring binder that was sitting next to her on the table.

“It says here that you’re a high-grade student, have radical observations and interpretation skills, and your vision well exceeds your grasp. You’re also a Pines and prone to anxiety, but I won’t hold that against you.”

“I can be not anxious!” Dipper protested.

Furry smiled. “Your anxiety wasn’t what I was referring to.”

“What, you don’t like my last name? It’s just a name!”

“Uh,” Furry said, as if stating the glaringly-obvious. “Your family’s fucking insane.”

 _"What? No!_ I know Mabel comes on a little strong…”

“Not your sister, your uncles. Batshit crazy, the pair of them.”

“Wait!” Dipper leaned forward. “You know my Great Uncles?”

“We’ve met,” Furry said. “Unfortunately.”

_"When? I haven’t heard from them in forever!"_

“Geeez, Dipper! Cool your jets. It was like three or four years ago. We worked together for a bit.”

“Where? Tell me!”

“Uh, no. I’m not here to talk about hazel shit, I’m here to talk about _you._ You with me?”

Dipper was practically panting. He wanted to know where Doctor Furry had met Stan and Ford, and why she had such a low opinion of them. He wanted to set the record straight and explain how they were legitimate _heroes,_ and had saved the world.

It was almost worth destroying any chance he had of being accepted into West Coast Tech.

Almost.

“I’m sorry,” he leaned back. “I...never mind.”

It hurt more than he expected, dismissing his pride and the reputation of his family. In fact, it left a really sour taste in his mouth.

“Oh, it’s all good in the hood,” Furry said. “Getting back to the topic at hand, word on the street is you’ve been jonesing for acceptance into WCT all through high school, which I applaud the _fuck_ out of, by the way.”

“West Coast Tech has always been my first choice for college,” Dipper said automatically.

“Right _on!"_ said Furry. “And your grades and paper have definitely gotten our attention. So good work on that. We also heard you’ve created some interesting mechanical devices.”

“Yeah, actually. I have!” Dipper said. “Mostly for measuring discrepancies in the geomagnetic field, and analyzing the disruption.”

“I’d very much like to see these devices,” Furry said, resting her chin on her hand, and staring at Dipper intently.

Dipper smacked his forehead. “I left it in my locker! I didn’t know Mabel was taking me to this interview or I would’ve brought it with me. Would have been nice to have a heads-up.”

“Life doesn’t usually come with a heads-up, and life as a West Coast Tech student definitely doesn’t.”

“So...what do you want me to do?”

“You tell me.”

“We could go get the stuff from my locker?”

“Works for me,” Furry said. “Lead the way.”

Dipper stood and Furry followed suit, snapping shut the three-ring binder and dropping it into a large tote bag, that she then slung across her shoulder.

Dipper felt very strange and more than a bit self-conscious walking out of the cafeteria accompanied by a representative from West Coast Tech. 

She was not at _all_ what he’d pictured or expected the school to send. This entire _interview_ wasn’t what he’d expected, and it felt completely surreal. He couldn’t quite wrap his mind around the fact that it was happening right here, right now.

They passed a couple of younger students in the hall who paid Dipper no mind, but stared at Furry as if they’d never seen a grown-up before.

Dipper turned back to speak to her over his shoulder.

“It’s not like there’s no teachers or staff here. Weird.”

“Oh I’m used to it,” Furry assured him. “I probably smell funny or something.”

“I hadn’t noticed.”

“I’m _joking,_ okay.”

They were almost at Dipper’s locker when Furry spoke again.

“So I guess this has been a hella-rough couple days for you, huh?”

Dipper had halfway hoped that she wouldn’t mention that but, he supposed, it was inevitable. 

And Furry had been on-site. Maybe she’d have some information about the Specters.

“I’m grateful you happened to be there when my Mom had her...whatever it was.”

Furry sighed. “Yeah. It was kind of crazy. Uh...how she doing, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“No, it’s fine,” Dipper said, although he did mind very much. “She’s...not quite herself…”

“Seriously, Dipper. You don’t have to talk about this if you don’t want to. I promise I won’t be offended.”

“Okay,” Dipper said. 

They’d reached his locker by this point anyway, so he went straight to unlocking and opening it. From the narrow compartment, he produced the DP Ghost Detector 2.0, although he wasn’t about to tell Furry that he called it that.

“This is my GeoAtmospheric Disruption Meter,” he said. “It’s my second attempt. There were a few things from the prototype that I wanted to tweak.”

Furry took the remote that Dipper handed her. 

“It’s pretty straightforward,” he said. “That toggle right there turns it on.”

“The one marked ‘on’?” Furry said in an almost-teasing manner. “May I?”

“Be my guest.”

Furry flipped the ‘on’ toggle and the device whirred to life and lifted into the air until it was hovering just above their heads.

“Oh now that’s freakin’ sweet!” Furry said, her face breaking into a grin. “I _like_ it!”

Dipper felt a warm wave of accomplishment at the praise. Someone from West Coast Tech was impressed by his anomaly-detecting gadget! If only he had some way of telling Great Uncle Ford!

“Ooooh, coooool,” Furry said as she tested the controls that flew the Detector in different directions and at different heights. 

She winced when it nearly hit a wall, but managed to alter its course at the last second.

“Yowzah! Darn near wrecked it! _Whew!"_

A freshman walked out of his classroom and stared at the drone.

“What are you looking at?” Furry demanded.

“What…?” the freshman asked, pointing at the hovering object.

“Oh that? You’re looking at the results of studying hard. You do that too and this could be _you_ in three years.”

“I...could be a... _hovercraft?"_

Dipper opened his mouth to offer a correction, but Furry spoke up before he could utter a word.

“Yes, that’s _exactly_ what I was implying. Technology, man. It’s what the future’s made of.”

“Oooookayyyy,” the freshman said, backing up into the safety of their classroom.

Dipper and Furry both burst out laughing.

“Oh man, we should have buzzed them and taken a reading,” said Dipper.

“We still could, you know. Burst into the classroom and cause some disruption of our own.”

They laughed again.

“You’re not bad for a Pines,” Furry said. “And I hope you aren’t too offended by my comments on your uncles. I’m sure you know enough about them to understand where I’m coming from.”

She removed a clipboard from her bag and started taking a few notes.

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to borrow your machine and take specs and stuff to submit to my supervisors.”

“Uh, sure,” Dipper said.

He wasn’t about to admit that he was going to feel a bit uncomfortable without his best ghost-hunting gear at his immediate disposal.

“Perfect,” Furry said, landing the drone and quickly collecting it up. “I’ll tell you what, Dipper. The rest of the admission peeps are gonna’ _flip_ over this. I’m not saying you’re _in,_ but I’m sayin’ there’s a chance."

They wandered back to the cafeteria, discussing particle physics and time travel. Furry seemed to know a great deal about the theory, although she insisted there was no possible way that someone could go back and time and fix a mistake.

“It’s really simple, though,” she said. “If you went back in time to...say, stop something from happening, you would be unable to stop it. You might even be instrumental in causing it, because you’d just incorporate your travels _into_ the timeline.”

“Only if time is fixed,” Dipper countered.

“Time _is_ fixed.”

“For the most part, yet,” Dipper said, remembering a carnival, Wendy, Mabel and a piglet. “But if you calculate all the factors just right, you can alter things and stop whatever thing you’re trying to stop. It just...sometimes had consequences because it alters _other_ events.”

“That’s some butterfly thunder bullshit right there,” Furry argued. “Think about it. If you are successful in stopping the thing, your entire reason for traveling back in time is gone, therefore you never _went_ back in time to stop it, which _causes_ it to re-happen. Paradox. Definition of.”

“But what if time traveling removes you from the timeline?”

“But that just puts you in an alternate universe, and _that’s_ a whole ‘nuther can of salamanders.”

Their friendly debate continued as they took their seats back in the cafeteria. Dipper suspected that this debate, as well as going to retrieve the drone, might be a part of the interview process.

It was very, _very_ different from what he’d expected but also very much more enjoyable. If it hadn’t been for the dig against his great uncles, he would have been feeling more relaxed than he had in days.

Furry finished up the notes she was taking (notes which Dipper was virtually dying of curiosity to see) and expressed her thanks, as well as thanks from West Coast Tech for Dipper’s patience.

“And I know I sounded like I ate a WCT PR memo for breakfast just now. And, I mean, that _is_ what I eat for breakfast every morning…I’m kidding of course. I eat a sandwich.”

“Uh…” said Dipper. “Can I ask you something? That, like, isn’t about school? Like, a personal question?”

He immediately regretted his wording as Furry began laughing.

“Whoah there, Pines Junior. Let’s not start with my personal life. I mean, I know sharing is caring and all that…”

She laughed even harder and Dipper hid his face in his hands.

“Oh man, oh man. I didn’t mean it like that. I meant personal to _me._ I was gonna’ ask you about my Mom.”

Furry immediately stopped laughing and her face turned serious.

Dipper took her silence as a sign to continue, and looked up from his hands.

“You...you saw her collapse?”

“I...did.”

“Okay, this might sound weird but did...did you see anyone around her or, like, right next to her when it happened.”

“I don’t think so…” Furry said. “I don’t remember there being anyone else on the aisle at all. She was definitely alone when I got to her.”

“Oh,” said Dipper. “Okay, thanks. I...uh, should probably be getting back to her.”

“Of course. WCT will be in touch pretty soon. And, in the meantime, don’t sweat it.”

Dipper nodded. “‘Kay.”

He glanced quickly back when he reached the doorway of the lunchroom to see Furry frowning and apparently lost in thought. When she saw him looking back, she quickly put on a bright smile and waved, but Dipper couldn’t help but feel it was meant to placate him.

He collected his journal from the locker and pondered recent events, as he walked towards the front entrance of the school.

Furry said that there wasn’t anybody next to his mother at the time of her episode, but his mother said there was a figure next to her. Could it have actually been a hallucination caused by a neurological event, rather than a supernatural entity?

Still, there was something about Furry’s response that reminded him just a touch of Grunkle Stan when he had claimed that nothing weird or supernatural was happening in Gravity Falls.

Dipper was so lost in thought that he almost walked into a young woman he didn’t recognize, who was wandering around outside the school. 

“Aaaggh! Sorry!” he cried, hugging his journal to his chest and stepping quickly aside.

The girl regarded him distantly but did not speak. She looked at bit dazed and uncomfortable.

Maybe it was a delayed reaction to the West Coast Tech meeting, or maybe it was a culmination of everything that had happened over the past couple of days, but Dipper was starting to feel a bit sick. He quickly checked for Specters but saw none.

The only other figure was the girl, who was now squinting at her phone and looking pained, like she had a splitting headache. She pulled a piece of paper out of her pocket and began scouring the ground, looking very frustrated.

She squinted once at Dipper but still didn’t particularly acknowledge him.

Dipper shrugged. Under more normal circumstances, he might have asked her if she was okay but, right now he was starting to feel _really_ bad and just wanted to get home.

If he’d been more with it, Dipper might have noticed that not only were the girl’s feet not touching the ground, they also couldn’t be seen. Her legs seemed to vanish just above her ankles.

***

“UGH! WHY!” Grenda cried. “Now I’M getting sick. And I didn’t DRINK anything.”

Wendy and Robbie traded a look. They weren’t feeling so hot either and Wendy was really struggling to walk all the way to the Mystery Shack.

“This is just not my day,” she muttered.

Another wave of nausea hit her and she could see that both Robbie and Grenda were feeling it too.

For the second time that day, a feeling inexplicable badness seemed to rush through her and, this time, she wasn’t sure she would have the strength to outrun it.

“Come on, both of you.”

She grabbed Robbie and Grenda and dragged them forward down the road, groaning as her vision became distorted once again.

“Oh fuuuuuck this,” Robbie said.

“Come _on."_

With energy she didn’t know she had, Wendy began running in the direction of the Shack, refusing to let go of her two friends. For a moment, she thought she wasn’t going to make it and they’d just be ripped apart by whatever intangible force they’d encountered.

But then suddenly, miraculously, Wendy’s head cleared and she felt her energy returning in a way it hadn’t since early that morning.

“Whoah,” Robbie said. “Did everything just get...a lot less shitty feeling?”

“No,” Grenda said. “I feel like death warmed over. STOP, Wendy. I need to SIT DOWN.”

And so they sat, Grenda looking very pale and sweaty.

“You okay?” Robbie asked.

“Do I LOOK okay?” 

Grenda curled up in a ball in the middle of the road.

“I...guess we just wait here until she feels better?” Robbie asked uncertainly. 

“If anyone comes along and asks,” Wendy said. “She’s a really big armadillo that we dressed up.”

“Nobody is going to believe that,” Robbie said.

“Well we’ll just tell them ‘never mind all that’.”

“Which apparently never happened.”

“Ugh! Robbie! What the _hell_ is going on in Gravity Falls?”

***

Mabel was pacing the living room with an intense look of agitation. 

She was dressed in leggings and a painfully bright shirt, but was also sporting Agent Ristica’s goggles. It made for a truly jarring combination.

“Oh. Dipper,” she said when she saw him standing in the doorway. “You came home too. How’d it go?”

Waddles, who had been watching Mabel pace back and forth, snorted a greeting.

“The interview?” Dipper said. “Uh, not...like I thought. At all.”

“Yeah, pretty different from Grunkle Ford’s mess, huh?”

“Well she _did_ seem impressed with my Ghost Detector. She...took it. Not sure...how I feel about that?”

“Oh you and your Ghost Detector…”

Mabel walked to the nearest window and looked out of it, biting her lip and nervously drumming her fingers on the sill.

“Uh, Mabel?” Dipper said. “What the hell is wrong? You’re acting like... _me."_

“Yeah. Weird, huh?” Mabel said, grinning at him. “It’s almost like we’re _related_ or something.”

The two shared a laugh.

“Seriously though, Mabel. What happened in the past hour? You worried about Mom?”

“I went to see her again,” Mabel admitted. “She wasn’t any better, and it just made me feel _worse._ What can we _do,_ Dipper? I tried bringing photo albums! Scrapbooks! It worked on Grunkle Stan! _Why won’t it work on Mom?!?"_

“I think,” Dipper said. “That whatever happened to Mom is really different from a memory gun.”

“You think those ghosty things are involved, don’t you?”

“I don’t know what I think! Mom says she remembered seeing a Specter when she collapsed but also they might have just been her imagination. Furry said she didn’t notice anything. I don’t even know!”

Mabel slumped down onto the sofa and propped her feet up on Waddles, who grunted contentedly, happy that his human wasn’t doing that pacing thing anymore.

Ignoring the pig footstool, Dipper sat down beside her.

“Why are you wearing the space goggles?”

“They’re _time_ goggles. And I was getting ready to go meet Nathan View in the future, but then I panicked because...How can I save Blendin in the future, if I can’t even save my Mom in the right-now?”

Dipper sighed. He didn’t like seeing his sister in this state.

“I wish...Great Uncle Ford were here. He’d know what to do?”

“We could still ask the computer in the future…”

 _"No,_ Mabel. If Stan and Ford can’t help us right now, then it’s time we find somebody who _can."_

“But who’s that?” Mabel said sadly. “Dipper, the only people who wouldn’t think we’re totes _cray-cray_ if we suggested,” she made air quotes _"s_ _upernatural involvement_ are in Gravity Falls. I mean, what other adults do we even really _know_ around here, besides Dad?”

“Maybe...it’s not actually supernatural.”

Both Waddles and Mabel made an eerily similar noise of disbelief.

“You, of all people, do not actually think that,” Mabel said.

“I don’t know! What if this really _is_ just Mom’s brain? This kind of stuff happens sometimes.”

Mabel didn’t say anything, and they sat in heavy silence for a little while longer. The muffled drone of some trapped insect in the window seemed more annoying than usual.

Mabel pulled off the goggles and held them in her lap, staring at her reflection in them, as if it might have an answer.

“It’s like you said earlier,” Dipper said. “You can’t just stop being you.”

Waddles gave a loud snort.

Mabel’s look became more resolved and determined.

“You’re right,” she said. “Both of you. We’ve got to focus on what we _can_ do and, right now, what we _can_ do is get that damned Timedisc and find Blar-Blar.”

Dipper took a deep breath.

“Then I’m with you the whole way.”

Mabel pushed herself to her feet and replaced the goggles.

“Well then. Shall we?”

“Let’s do it,” said Dipper. “But you, uh, should probably wear something less...neon pink.”

 _"Pfft!"_ Mabel waved a hand, looking and sounding much more like herself again. “Dress to impress, when you’re meeting someone in a covert discussion while pretending to be someone else.”

“More like dress to scare the living daylights out of them if you show up looking like that. Seriously, Mabel.”

“Oh fine. I’ll dress back up in that stupid outfit.”

Waddles snorted, much louder than before.

“Yes I _know_ it makes me look like an incredible badass,” she told him. “It’s just that _this,"_ she waved her hands at her current outfit. “is so much more _comfortable."_

“I’m in favor of comfortable,” Dipper said. “And I’m also in favor of functional. But, in this case, those two things do not intersect.”

“One day the Time Agency will dress like this,” Mabel insisted. “Though my costume isn’t _un-_ comfortable. It’s just... _work clothes._ But whatever. I’ll go change. Waddles, I need your advice on something.”

Waddles raced up the stairs after Mabel.

“I’ll just...wait,” Dipper said, as he quietly sat staring at the window and flattening his bangs.

There was a glass jar of peanuts, still in their shell, sitting on the windowsill and Dipper found himself wondering why. It seemed like a sort of Stan thing to do, not so much Eleanor and Palmer.

Nothing of late felt right, for that matter, and Dipper couldn’t shake the feeling of not even recognizing himself in his own life. He wasn’t sure if it were a supernatural thing, a hospitalized Mom thing, a teenage thing or some mishmashed combination of the three.

“Is everybody’s life this confusing?” he asked the jar in the window.

The peanuts, just as he suspected, did not reply but instead sat brown and utterly silent.

The whole house was now so quiet that Dipper could even hear the thumps and footsteps of Mabel and Waddles upstairs.

He found himself wandering up the stairs as well, the idea of locating and wearing Wendy’s bomber hat in the forefront of his mind.

He couldn’t have known that he’d just missed something significant that would soon set in motion a sequence of events that would ultimately reconnect him with people and friends that he had not seen in a long time. And this thing wasn’t just the girl with no feet.


	7. THE MAN IN THE HIGH MANOR

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Dipper and Mabel eavesdrop on a meeting between a Time Agent and a Time Journalist in the future, things go from bad to worse for the struggling Time Agency.   
> Back in present-day Gravity Falls, Wendy and Robbie continue to search for a way to prove to a very skeptical Grenda that Weirdmageddon actually happened, their quest leading them to the basement of the Mystery Shack and to a mansion high on a hill. That all goes pretty badly as well.

“Yo, Wen-dog, I think you’re goin’ a bit crazy,” Soos proclaimed from behind the cash register at the Mystery Shack.

_"Seriously?!?"_ Wendy slammed her fist on the counter, looking stricken and trying to ignore Grenda’s look of triumph from behind her. “You of all people, Soos! You _can’t_ have forgotten too!”

“Whoah, whoah, easy dude,” Soos said, taking a step back and holding up his palms. He chuckled nervously. “Do you mind when I call you dude? I don’t know if you’ve ever said. Anyway, sounds like you might be losing your mind a little bit if you think maybe Weirdmageddon didn’t happen.”

Wendy plunked her head down on the counter. 

“Oh thank god.”

“I was there, remember?” Soos said. “If I forgot that, then I’d say those Blind Eye cult dudes must be back in action.”

“Yeah,” Wendy said, raising her head to look up at him. “You might be onto something there. But, it’d have to be in a _huge_ way. The newspapers have _changed_ , Soos.”

“Yeah, you just said that. But you’ve come to the right place. If you’re looking for evidence of Weirdmageddon, we’ve got evidence here to spare! That rug right there, for instance…”

Soos’ voice trailed out.

“WHAT RUG?” Grenda demanded.

“Oh crap!” Soos said, slapping his forehead. “Doctor Pines burned it. I forgot.”

“Burned it?” Robbie asked. 

“Oh yeah,” Wendy said. “It was, like, a big deal.”

“Sure was,” Soos agreed. “He burned all the Bill stuff. Come to think of it, that might make your endeavor here just a little bit more difficult, huh?”

“Ugh, _Soos!"_ Wendy cried, throwing her hands in the air. 

Soos looked crestfallen.

“No,” Wendy continued. “No, I know. It’s not your fault this time. I’d’ve burned that shit, too.”

“What about the windows?” Robbie asked.

“Yeah, he burned those too.”

“HOW DO YOU _BURN_ A WINDOW??” Robbie cried.

“With a really hot fire,” Grenda said. “Or a really witty comeback.”

“That’s okay, that’s okay,” Wendy said in a tone that suggested the person she was trying most to reassure was herself. “He can’t’ve gotten rid of every single shred of evidence.”

“Maybe there’s NO EVIDENCE because it NEVER HAPPENED,” Grenda suggested.

“Grenda!” Wendy snapped.

“Sorry,” Grenda said. “I still don’t feel good and I could be talking to Marius right now instead of on some wild goose chase for whatever we’re wild goose chasing.”

“S’okay, dog,” Soos said. “There’s still both floors of the Ford Pines Underground Research Lab. I left them untouched.”

“The what underground research what?” Robbie asked.

“Oh yeah,” Wendy said. “You’re gonna’ love this.”

Soos walked confidently across the room to the vending machine and punched in the sequence required to open the door behind it, revealing a narrow staircase.

“Uh…” Robbie said.

“C’mon,” Soos said, starting down the stairs.

The other three followed.

“Is it just me,” Wendy said. “Or does this place seem a lot _cleaner_ than it should?”

“How come I never knew about this place when I was in my creepy-is-cool phase?” Robbie asked.

“This place was creepy before you were cool,” Soos said proudly.

“LIES!” cried Grenda. “Rob was never cool.”

Wendy and Soos both snorted.

_"Hey!"_ Robbie protested.

“Okay,” Soos said. “Elevator. Where to?”

They stepped onboard.

“Isn’t there, like, a library down here?” Wendy asked. “I helped haul some stuff up from there once.”

“Sure thing,” Soos said. “Floor two it is.”

The elevator came to a halt in front of an incredibly ornate wooden door.

“Okay,” Robbie said. “Is anyone else wondering how the Doc _dug_ this place? I mean, it’s not just something you can do with a shovel.”

“Maybe he hired a bunch of boys with lots of shovels and made them do it,” Grenda suggested. 

“Grenda, what the hell?” Wendy laughed.

“What? That’s how my grandparents dug their basement.”

“I mean,” Wendy said. “When I was little, I _did_ have that idea of making a network of underground tunnels. I got the idea when my Dad was looking at PVC pipe at the hardware store. I thought ‘Hey! I could use these for air vents and for my Dad to call me in for lunch, because obviously I’d spend all day in the underground tunnels.”

“Uh, Wendy,” Robbie said. “You actually _did_ that, remember?”

“Well, _yeah."_

“Are you just gonna’ talk about baby Wendy’s tunneling business,” Grenda said. “Or can we talk about the fact that we’re standing in a freaking magic wizard’s office?”

“Fair point,” said Wendy.

“Whoah,” said Robbie, looking around and taking in his surroundings for the first time. “This is intense.”

“Why doesn’t _my_ study have a spiral staircase?” Grenda demanded.

“I’m with you there,” Robbie said. “I have about eight ideas for improvements to my dorm room.”

“Hey, that’s funny,” Soos said. “We left this place untouched but…” he walked over to a desk and lay his head on it, squinting suspiciously at a neatly stacked pile of pages set on the corner. “Is that organization I spy?”

“Organization?” Grenda said, fearfully.

“Yeah,” Soos said. “Doctor Pines was organized but...like, messy organized? This way too neat and tidy. It’s almost like…”

His eyes widened in realization.

“I vacuum the study,” Abuelita said, descending the spiral staircase, while carrying more cleaning supplies than should have been humanly possible.

“Abuelita,” Soos said in distress. “This is Mr. Ford’s private hideout. I don’t think he’ll appreciate you messing with his stuff.”

“Mr. Ford is not here,” Abuelita said sweetly, brushing past on her way to the elevator. “Let me know if your little friends will be joining us for dinner.”

There was a moment of silence, which was quickly broken by a high-pitched sound from Wendy, whose face was now hidden behind her own arm. She was shaking with silent laughter.

Robbie shot her a look, which only caused her to collapse into a legitimate fit of giggles.

“Sorry about that?” Soos said nervously.

“Soos, I love your grandmother!” Grenda shouted. “Can she come over and clean my house next?”

“Yeah,” Wendy said, sitting up and wiping tears of laughter from her eyes. “And mine.”

“Your house is beyond help,” Robbie told her. 

“Fair point. My Dad and the bros just have to walk through the door and it’s insta-mess.”

“Thing is,” Soos said. “I don’t really know my way around this place, mess or no mess. The doc took a lot of stuff with him…”

Robbie began flipping through the stack of papers.

“‘Notes On Gnome Social Structure’,” he read aloud. “‘Salamander Worship In Dimension 959-WDVX.’ I could get behind that. ‘Why Does F Insist On Singing Loudly And Off Key In The Shower? Doesn’t He Know I Have Absolute Pitch And It Hurts My Head?’”

“Now I know why he didn’t appreciate our rendition of the _Literacy Color-Spectrum_ theme song,” Soos said, looking as if he’d just realized something incredibly profound.

“What, our rendition was GREAT!” Grenda protested. “Although not as good as my cover of ‘Don’t Hold Onto It’. Now _that_ was total epic.”

Wendy stood up and looked around the room thoughtfully. 

There were all manner of interesting things, all worth spending some time investigating, but none of them specifically pertained to Weirdmageddon or anything remotely similar.

She walked to a stash of scrolls and began unrolling them. They were all similar to the papers that Robbie was looking through. She paused to admire a depiction of the October night sky with notes about the movements of the planets, position of the stars and some rather sarcastic comments on astrology.

_'The only certain thing you can rely on the position of stars for,'_ Ford had written. _'I_ _s navigation at sea.'_

“I hope that’s working out for you, old man,” Wendy said wistfully, setting the scroll aside and picking up another.

They spent the better part of two hours searching the study, unearthing a number of writings and interesting artifacts, but nothing that would even remotely suggest that an apocalyptic event had ever happened in Gravity Falls.

“Indeed, if you look at it logically,” Soos admitted from where he was sitting on the floor, surrounded by papers that Abuelita would undoubtedly tidy up later with a tinge of annoyance. “We remember a dimensional rip in the sky, all the forests being burned, the town being destroyed, and a talking triangle. Now there’s no evidence, the trees haven’t been touched, the town went magically back to normal? I dunno’, dudes, I’m startin’ to think maybe we _are_ the crazy ones.”

“Soos, don’t say that,” Wendy said. “We all remember it independently.”

“Mass delusion,” Grenda said. “It says so right here in this.”

She held up a book by Carl Sagan.

“But all of us?” Robbie asked.

“Yeah. It’s called mass delusion. Not individual delusion.”

“We should check the basement,” Soos said. “The portal’s long gone but there might be _something."_

He sounded doubtful.

“Wait,” Robbie said. “This _isn’t_ the basement?”

“It’s a place of deep mystery,” Grenda said. “Even the basements have basements!”

“I like to call it basement-ception,” Soos added.

“Then let’s go,” Grenda said, jumping up. “The sooner we prove you’re all suffering from mass delusion, the sooner I can say I told you so.”

They left the room, a few papers drifting in the gust of air caused by the closing of the study door.

From atop one of the tall shelves, where it must have been absently placed at one point, a single sheet of paper fluttered to the floor. On it was a partially-completed sketch of a gangly, bi-pedal monster in shackles and broken chains. It had bat ears, a drooping jaw and 8-balls for eyes.

The artist, whose drawing skills were only slightly less than Stanford Pines, had also scrawled a description in blue ink.

_‘Powers unknown. Incredibly stupid, as I managed to easily escape while he was discussing whether he and one of his fellow monsters should eat me.'_

Beneath that, in smooth cursive, someone else had written: _‘An entirely useless creature_.’

***

As Mabel and Dipper approached the Time Agency skyscraper, their attention was once again drawn to the giant blue horse statue standing ominously outside the entrance.

“Uh...Mabel?” Dipper asked. “Was it rearing up _that high_ before?”

“Well _yeah_ , silly,” Mabel replied. “It’s a _statue_. It’s not like it can move around.”

“I dunno.’ Things don’t seem so normal these days.”

He eyed the massive stone horse suspiciously as they walked through the broken door into the building, unable to shake the feeling that it was watching him back.

Jetlag looked annoyed when he saw Mabel and Dipper approaching him.

“Oh for time’s sake!” he demanded. “Are you past Ristica or future Ristica?”

“Huh?” said Dipper.

“What do you mean?” Mabel asked.

“What do I _mean?_ I _mean_ you’re already here today! Now, I’m a little rusty on the Timelaws, or if we even really _have_ Timelaws anymore these days, but I’m pretty certain that’s a time no-no.”

“Oh,” Mabel said. “I must have miscalculated.”

“Miscalculated!” Dipper cried, throwing his hands into the air. _"_ _Miscalculated?_ Did you _really_ not think this was going to happen sooner or later?”

_"Dipper!"_ Mabel hissed through her teeth, pointing at Jetlag. _"_ _Shhhh!"_ There’s a guy right here, remember?”

“My _name_ is Jefferson Jetlag! I’m not _just a guy!"_

“Sorry, Jet,” Mabel said. “Can I call you Jet? I’m gonna’ call you Jet. This is just...welllll...it’s a complicated situation.”

“Yeah, I can tell that.”

There was a mechanical hissing noise from the far end of the lobby and the three turned towards it, just as the elevator door opened.

“Oh shit,” Dipper said.

Inside the elevator were Dundgren and the _real_ Ristica.

“Quick,” Mabel said, vaulting over the desk where Jetlag sat. “Behind the counter-thing.”

“Hey!” Jetlag said, as Dipper followed suit. He looked quite alarmed now.

Mabel and Dipper ducked down on either side of him, their backs against the desk.

“Look,” Dipper said. “I don’t have time to explain, but just…”

Mabel shuffled around until she removed the bag of gummy koalas from the secret pocket in her flightsuit. She held it out to Jetlag with one hand and put a finger to her lips with the other.

_"We were never here."_

Jetlag’s expression turned firm and he reached out to take the koalas, surreptitiously placing them in a desk drawer without looking down.

From the sound of things, Ristica and Dundgren were having an argument as they approached, which Dipper took to be a good thing, because it most likely meant they were focused on each other and had not noticed him or Mabel scrambling out of sight.

“...still can’t believe you set me up to meet the guy!” Ristica was saying. “He’s a dead lead and this is a waste of time!”

“I didn’t set this up, _you_ set this up!” Dundgren snapped. “What the hell is up with you? One day you’re pushing me for a meeting with this View guy, the next you act like you don’t know anything about it and now you’re mad at me about it! I didn’t even want you to follow up on this one! Blendin’s list seems a lot more promising.”

“It was just a grocery list or something,” Ristica said. “And it sounds like your timeline might be a little wonky again, if you ask me.”

_"My_ timeline! You’re the one who lost your time machine!”

“Ugh, it’s not like the average person knows how to use it if they just see it lying around somewhere in time. Hi, Jetlag.”

“Hi,” Jetlag said stiffly.

“Whoah! Cool your _jets!"_ Ristica began to laugh. “Oh my _gawd,_ you look like you swallowed a sour bomb or something.”

“I have a stomachache.”

“Then go home!” Ristica said.

“What exactly do you even _do_ here, anyway?,” Dundgren added, as if the thought had only just occurred to him.

“I am the gatekeeper!” Jetlag protested.

“Don’t you mean _time_ -keeper,” Ristica said. “Am I right, Dundgren?!?”

“Nevermind,” Jetlag said, glancing down at Dipper and Mabel so they could see the growing look of guilt on his face. “Never mind, I guess you’re right, Dundgren. I _don’t_ do anything.”

But it didn’t sound like Dundgren was paying him any attention. Instead, his words were once again directed at Ristica.

“If you’re right that it got left in the twenty-first century, then someone is going to try to actually use it as a tape measure and end up in the fifteen hundreds and invent airplanes four hundred years too early.”

They were talking about the time machine again. Dipper felt himself tensing up.

Ristica was sniffing the air and ignoring Dundgren.

“Weird,” she said.

“What?” Jetlag asked nervously.

“It smells like... _gummy koalas_ in here.”

Dipper and Mabel traded frightened looks and silently pressed themselves even closer to the wooden desk at their backs.

They couldn’t become any less visible. If Ristica leaned forward over the desk and looked down, they were done for!

“That _is_ weird,” Jetlag said, going very pale.

“Yeesh, Jet-set. You _should_ take the day off. You look awful. Dundgren, if someone did go back with that machine, it’s already happened, so no biggie.”

_"Did you learn nothing from your little fiasco last week?"_ Dundgren practically screamed.

“Nope!”

“AAAAURGGGGGG! _Futura!"_

Ristica just laughed. “Oh man, you know who you remind me of right now?”

“UGH! Shut up! _Seriously!_ If someone with future knowledge goes back, you know _first-hand_ what can happen. I mean, what if someone goes back with an armload of Dan Brown books this time? What’s that going to mean for us?”

“The TARC can clean it up.”

Their voices were growing fainter and Dipper breathed a huge sigh of relief, knowing they were leaving.

“Are you _insane?"_ Dungren cried distantly. “We _have_ no Time Anomaly Removal Crew anymore. Bob can’t handle it _all_ right now. And can someone fix this goddamn door?”

And then they were gone.

Jetlag sunk weakly back into his chair but missed it by a few inches and instead fell to the floor and sent the chair spinning away to where it finally tipped over with a loud _crash._

He looked at Dipper and Mabel, his face white as a sheet.

“There better be a good excuse for this! I nearly got caught and we could have all ended up in what’s left of the Infinitentiary.”

“What’s left of it?” Mabel asked.

“Yeah, since the Downfall, it’s not as infinite as it used to be.”

“Wait!” Mabel said. “Wouldn’t that make it the _finite_ -ntionary?”

Dipper groaned loudly.

“I think I am going to go home,” Jetlag said.

“I hereby relieve you of being here for today,” Mabel said.

Jetlag stood up weakly and so did Dipper and Mabel.

“Look. I don’t even know if you’re really actually Ristica from another time but, you know what? I don’t want to know. This never happened. Goodbye.”

Jetlag stormed out of the lobby, an angry flush starting to blotch his otherwise pale face.

“Fuck this door!” he added.

“What do we do?” Mabel asked. “I can’t talk to View if _Ristica_ is talking to him.”

“Spy mission?” Dipper suggested.

“Oooh,” Mabel said, pointing at him with finger guns. “I’m all here for this idea. Let’s go.”

They struck out determinedly, Dipper glancing quickly at the stone horse on the way out, both he and Mabel forgetting, for the time being, their real-life problems back home in their own time.

Now, their sole focus was honing their ameteur sleuthing skills and tracking down View, Ristica and Dundgren.

Once again, it was so dark that they did not realize they were being watched.

This time, the observer was leaning casually at the entrance to an alleyway, following their movement with the eye not covered in a patch, and lighting a cigarette.

He watched as Dipper and Mabel boarded a local orange hoverbus and, once again, headed for the Coffee Shop District.

This time, the stranger didn’t just sit idly by and watch, he made a move - walking to the rearing stone horse and looking up at it.

The horse stood perfectly still in its rearing position.

“That can’t be comfortable, Denver.”

Abruptly, the horse’s front feet slammed onto the ground with a loud **_boom!_**

“Aye, that’s better.”

He patted the horse’s stone shoulder and it swiveled its head, bumping his own shoulder with its nose, making a low whinny that sounded a bit more like a growl than any horse noise had a right to.

“S’okay, Denver,” the man rubbed the horse’s nose. “It’s all good, girl.”

Denver pranced forward a bit, looking back at the man expectantly.

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, adjusting his eye patch and throwing the cigarette to the ground, where he crushed it under a pointed boot. “We’re going.”

He approached Denver and grabbed her mane closest to the withers. Although it looked like stone, it felt and moved like real hair. He hoisted himself onto her back and made a clicking noise, kicking his boots slightly and then galloping off down the street in the direction of the Coffee Shop District.

The hovercraft was, of course, faster. Dipper and Mabel were already in the District and walking into the retro Incandescent-Gas-Mass-Dollars, passing through the flexi-glass barrier with a _schlooop._

Rachel-John looked up and their half-human, half-machine face broke into a grotesque but delighted smile.

_"Futuuuuura!_ How’s it goin’, girl?”

_"Faaaan-_ tastic!” Mabel replied, making a beeline for the counter. “Sorry, don’t have much time to chat, _buuuut,_ if we could borrow a few _props…_ ”

***

The Mystery Shack elevator doors opened on the bottom floor, revealing an empty expanse of caverns.

“Okay, but,” Robbie began. “How does the Shack not collapse into the ground with all this empty space under here?”

Nobody answered as they stepped out.

“Seriously? Am I, like, the only one wondering this?”

“Just one of the many wondrous mysteries surrounding the Mystery Shack,” Soos said, proudly.

“I wanna’ collapse it with my voice!” Grenda said, before loudly shouting. “AAAAAAGGGGHHHHHH!”

Nothing collapsed, but the shout echoed around the basement, morphing into something that sounded much, much creepier.

“Grenda,” Wendy said. “Never do that again.”

The old control room for the portal had been cleared out completely. The books and artefacts were all gone, and even some of the machinery had been removed.

In the arching cavern where the portal itself once stood, there was nothing but a great pile of rubble. Nothing in it was discernible as ever having been one machine in particular.

“Dude, this place is even crazier than I imagined it,” Wendy said.

“You should have seen it when the portal was activated,” Soos said. “It was crazy-bonkers video game action up in here. And no gravity either. And, like, a whole big pivotal moment of truth and trust that I’m pretty sure some worlds still talk about.”

“Soos?” Wendy said. “What the fuck?”

They stood in silence among what remained of the wreckage.

“This was the place where it all happened,” Soos continued. “The epicenter. Grenda, you remember _that_ don’t you?”

“Oh yeah, sure,” Grenda said. “And, like, it’s _obvious_ something happened here. But I see nothing here that supports giant talking triangles or _the entire town burning!"_

“You were _there,_ though!” Wendy insisted. “We all were! You and Candy helped pilot the Shack-Tron!”

“What and I piloted the _what?"_

“You and Candy! McGucket made the Shack into a giant robot to combat Bill!”

“Right, so none of what you just said makes ANY sense. Candy? What help is _that_ for piloting a robot?”

“Candy is innovative,” Wendy said. “You know _that,_ Grenda.” 

“Innovative? How is candy innovative? It’s inanimate! It just sits in bags at the convenience store, silently taunting hungry people like me.”

“I mean Candy the person, not candy the candy,” Wendy said dryly.

“Candy the person?”

“Uh, yeah. Candy Chiu.”

"Candy Who?"

“Grenda, you’re scaring me.”

“YOU’RE SCARING _ME!_ CANDY WHO?”

“Uh, like, literally your best friend.”

“I never had a best friend except for Mabel.”

“This is...this is…” Wendy put her hands on her head. “I don’t even know _what_ this is. I don’t know what to think right now. Like maybe, just _maybe,_ we mass-delusioned Weirdmageddon but... _definitely_ not Candy.”

“Yeah, dude,” Soos said. “Candy-dawg is pretty unforgettable.”

“Yeah, in her own way, I guess,” Robbie added.

“Well, just for shits and giggles,” Grenda said. “Let’s say I _have_ forgotten. What do we _do?"_

“I...have no idea what to do,” Wendy admitted, letting her eyes drift over the twisted pieces of metal at her feet. “But...I think I know someone who might.”

***

“Okay, there’s hiding behind a pizza box and then there’s this,” Dipper said.

He and Mabel were both standing right out in the open in a town square of the Coffee Shop District, lit by extremely bright lights.

All around were floating seats and tabletops, a wide variety of beings seated at them.

“This is dumb,” Dipper said.

He and Mabel were both hiding inside the shell of a defunct Guide, crowded together to stare out of the small one-way view screen.

“No, it’s perfect,” Mabel insisted. “These computerbox things are everywhere and nobody even notices them.”

This, Dipper had to admit, was true. The only potential problem so far was when the citizens of the future actually wanted to _use_ a Guide to find someone or something.

However, Mabel quickly discovered that screaming _“ERROR! ERROR! ERROR! ERROR!”_ in a mechanical voice did wonders to discourage this behavior.

On the other side of the square, Dundgren was stationed to spy as well, crouched behind a floating trash can that sang _“Don’t litter! Make the future glitter!”_ at random intervals.

“That’s not a great hiding place,” Dipper observed. “I can see his feet. You know, since the trash can is floating.”

“Heh!” Mabel giggled loudly in his ear, the sound echoing through the Guide’s hollow metal frame. “It looks like the trash can has legs! _Hah_ -hah!”

“Mabel…”

“Trash can with legs! Trash can with legs!”

_“Don’t litter! Make the future glitter!”_ sang the trash can in question.

“I don’t know which is worse, having to listen to _that,_ or having _you_ in my ear,” Dipper muttered.

“Hey!” said Mabel. “What about _me_ having to be squashed in this thing with _you?”_

“How am _I_ a problem? Do you hear _me_ making shreaky laughing noises?”

“No, but you do kind of stink.”

“I do _not!”_

“Yes you _do!_ You get stressed or excited and forget to shower! It’s a problem!”

“Yes, well. I showered... _recently!”_

“You still dump your dirty clothes all over your floor even worse than _I_ do! Your whole room is stinky.”

“Mabel, you have a literal _pig_ living in your room.”

“And yours is still stinkier.”

While they bickered, Ristica sat alone in a hovering chair at a hovering table, stirring her coffee with a deceivingly-bored expression on what could be seen of her face.

She pulled her goggles up to rub her eyes, and then replaced them, waiting.

“What if Nathan View doesn’t show?” Mabel wondered.

Just as Dipper was considering this possibility and so, it seemed, was Ristica, a man with a boyish face and mustache approached the table.

Although recognizable from the unflattering file photo of him that the twins had seen on the Time Agency’s computer database, he was not at all what Dipper had expected. Nathan View was very tall and very muscular.

There was a sharp intake of breath from beside Dipper.

_"Oh_ no,” he began.

“He’s _beautiful,”_ said Mabel.

“Aaaaaaand, I was right.”

The man approached Ristica and she watched intently as he did so, scrutinizing him carefully.

“Uh…” he said, coming to a stop on the side of the table across from her. “Agent Futura?”

Ristica reached out her hand and the man made to shake it, only to awkwardly realize she was gesturing at the seat.

“I...uh, sorry,” he said, sitting down.

“Please. Call me…” she laughed quietly. “Call me _Ristica_. And you are Nathan View. Wow, you seem younger than I…”

“Expected?” View said, his voice sounding nervous.

“Mmmm,” Ristica said. 

“I can’t say I’m not a little weirded out by the fact that the Time Police contacted me directly,” View said. He fidgeted a bit with his hands. “But you said t-this wasn’t police business. You’re searching for someone?”

“Oh _him,”_ Ristica said. “Well _yeah_. An operative of ours, actually.”

“You said he was a friend.”

Ristica looked a bit taken aback, but quickly went with it. “Right, of course. _Blendin_. Rumor has it there is pertinent information about him on Timedisc 19-4.”

“Blendin?” View said. “Blendin _Blandin?_ The TARC guy who got himself thrown in the time-can for causing mayhem in the past?”

“He was pardoned through Globnar.”

“Yes, I reported on it.”

“Oh my gosh, _he knows about us!”_ Mabel squeaked. She elbowed Dipper painfully.

_“Shhhh! Mabel!”_ Dipper hissed.

“You know what, I get it,” View said. “You want the Timedisc from me. Nothing more.”

“That’s right,” Ristica said coldly.

“You seemed a lot friendlier in your message.”

“That was a long time ago.”

“It was a few days ago.”

“Was it? I know for a fact I haven’t sent you any messages for _years.”_

“You wanted to meet me.”

“Yeah, I was _told_ to meet you here.” She smirked. “Not _my,”_ she pointed at her chest. “Idea.”

“But…” View looked incredibly confused.

“Oh no!” Mabel cried. “She’s ruining it!”

“Come on, Futura…” View said.

_“Ristica.”_

“Sorry, _Ristica._ I know that Gabriel is not the Time Agency’s favorite person but _open your eyes!_ And you _have_ to know there’s something very wrong internally about the Agency you work for. Look around you! You can’t possibly think this is okay. You people don’t have the forces _or_ the resources to take command anymore. I think it’s time to hand the reins over to someone who does.”

“And you think Gabriel is the man for the job?”

View took a deep breath. “Yes. Yes I do.”

“Wrong answer!” Ristica pulled something that was decidedly not gummy koalas out of a hidden pocket in her own flightsuit, laughing at View’s sudden, terrified expression. 

“Hold it!” he cried, putting his hands up.

“NO!” Mabel screamed. 

Fortunately the trash can sang about littering at that exact moment and nobody appeared to hear Mabel, aside from Dipper, who thought he might have gone deaf for a moment.

“Gabriel is not a concern of mine,” Ristica said. “I just want the Timedisc.”

“I don’t have it!” View cried. “And even if I did, Blendin Blandin is not gonna’ do squat for your lost cause!”

Mabel tried to move the hollow leg of the Guide forward, but even her valiant attempt at jumping within the cramped space yielded very little result.

“But you,” Ristica said. “Have an ‘in’ with Gabriel. You could _get_ me the Timedisc.”

“And why the future _fuck_ would I do that?” View crossed his arms.

“Because of this.”

Ristica waved the device she was pointing at him.

“Because you have me at gunpoint?”

Ristica snorted. “This isn’t a gun.”

“It’s shaped exactly like a gun.”

“But it isn’t a gun.”

“It has the word ‘GUN’ written on it in giant red letters.”

“Of course it does. If I gave you the entire remaining database of the Time Agency computer system on a timedrive, I sure as hell wouldn’t make it look like a timedrive and write ‘TIMEDRIVE’ on it in great big letters.”

“Point taken...Wait, _what?!”_

Ristica set the not-gun on the table and slid it across to View.

“You’re _serious?_ You’re giving a Gabriel supporter the _entire police computer database?”_

“I told you, Gabriel doesn’t concern me.”

View looked from the disguised timedrive and back to Ristica’s face.

Across the street, from the way Dundgren’s feet were shuffling under the floating trashcan, it looked like he was fighting to keep from running up to Ristica and View and snatching the timedrive away (while undoubtedly shouting loudly at Ristica, too).

He must have had faith in her, however, because he stayed put.

“You realize that if I give this to Gabriel…” View began.

“My hope would be that you have some semblance of integrity,” Ristica laughed again. “I trust myself here, and I trust that Gabriel will not get this drive.”

“That’s...flattering?” View picked up the alleged timedrive and began inspecting it to confirm that it was indeed the Time Agency database as Ristica had said and not, in fact, a gun, as the red lettering on the side proclaimed.

“My intent is that you will, in return, get me Timedisc 19-4.”

“That’s asking a lot.”

“I’m _giving_ you a lot.”

Nathan View obviously couldn’t argue with that.

“So you’re... _bribing_ me.”

“That’s one way of looking at it.”

View just stared at the device in his hands.

“Well?” Ristica asked. “Are you in, or…” she made a movement as if to grab the timedrive back.

View quickly yanked it out of her reach.

“Alright. I’ll be your _secret spy_ or whatever. But not because I like you or your Agency.”

“The feeling is mutual,” Ristica said.

“You’re putting a lot of trust in me,” View said, standing up. “I’ve never accused the Agency of having a large amount of intelligence but this really takes the time-cake. You’re so desperate it reeks. You talk about _my_ integrity? _You’re_ bribing people with your own secrets!”

He nodded curtly. 

“I’ll be in touch, _Agent.”_

Ristica just laughed to herself as he sauntered away.

With an incredible show of strength, Mabel managed to rip apart the Guide shell at the seems and, before Dipper could stop her, she was running down the street after View crying “Wait! Wait!”

“Mabel!” Dipper hissed, but it was barely a whisper. It was too dangerous to shout and attract attention. It was a near-miracle as it was that nobody had noticed Mabel dressed as a time agent racing down the street, especially since the actual agent she was dressed as was sitting _right there._

The half of the Guide that contained Dipper fell over with a loud _crash_ and still nobody payed it any attention.

Perhaps Guides routinely self-destructed on the square.

“FUTURA! WHAT THE HELL?” he heard Dundgren roar. _"_ _Please_ tell me that timedrive wasn’t _our entire classified computer database hard drive!”_

“Sorry, Dundgren.”

Dipper tensed for a moment, thinking he should try to climb free of the wreckage of the Guide but then thought better of it and lay still to listen.

_“Sorry?_ What did you _do,_ Futura?”

“What I had to. Listen, I know it seems insane but he’s not going to give that drive to Gabriel.”

“How can you possibly know that?”

“Because...did you _look_ at him? He’s self-absorbed and greedy and doesn’t have a mind for staying on-track. When the time comes, he won’t give the intel to Gabriel. He’ll use it to further a power-grab of his own. Which we’ll be expecting and therefore avert. In the meantime, he’ll feed us inside info on the uprisers and lead us to the information we need from the Timedisc.”

“I…” Dundgren sounded at a loss for words. “That’s an awfully big gamble.”

“Which I excel at.”

“That’s true.”

There was a sudden whistling screech followed by an impossibly loud **_BOOM!_ ** that echoed through the square and caused the previously-unconcerned Coffee Shop District patrons to start screaming.

Dipper managed to swing his head out from under the Guide’s metal casing and look up to see what had caused the noise.

To his surprise, he saw Lobster-Bob on a one-person, open hovercraft with not one, not two, not three, but _four_ very frazzled time agents clinging desperately to the side. They were covered in what appeared to be soot and also, in fact, appeared to have been hit by a bolt of electricity.

“THE TIME AGENCY HAS FALLEN!” wailed one of the agents. “DOOM! DOOM! DOOOOOOOM!”

“Shut _up,_ Lego!” another yelled.

“Bob!” Ristica cried. “What the hell?”

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN THE TIME AGENCY HAS FALLEN?!?” Dundgren roared, much less calmly.

“They attacked us!” Lobster Bob panted. “They got into the building and _took it over!”_

“WHOOOOO?” Dundgren demanded.

Dipper took the opportunity to crawl fully out from under the former hiding place and scramble to his feet.

All around him, people were panicking. 

“WE DON’T KNOOOOOOW!” the agent that the other had referred to as Lego said. “THEY WERE ALL WEARING HOOOOODS!”

“Starwood wears a hood!” Dundgren cried.

“No,” Ristica said, appearing to think quickly. _“He’s_ accounted for and wouldn’t be able to pull this off without _help._ And it can’t be _Garbriel,_ either - no way he could get there this fast or this _quietly._ That just leaves…”

**“CODYYY** **_YYYY!!!”_ **

Everything shook wildly and a massive and very-threatening array of souped-up hovercrafts exploded into existence above the square, each piloted by a heavily-armed hooded figure. The sound alone threw Dipper off his feet.

“YOU CAN’T BE HERE!” Ristica screamed. “THIS IS NEUTRAL GROUND!”

“NOT ANYMORE!” one of the figures howled. “YOU DON’T CONTROL NOTHIN’ NO MORE!”

“The neutrality is _not_ police business!” Ristica shot back. “It’s mutual _agreement!”_

“We don’t have mutuality anymore!” another figure cried, circling their hovercraft around Ristica. “Now we only have **CODYY!”**

“Co-dy! Co-dy! Co-dy! Co-dy!” the rest of the fleet began chanting, revving their machine engines in a way that sounded strangely like the mechanical equivalent of threatening laughter.

Dipper made his way quickly through the rushing and screaming crowd, away from the scene and and in the direction that Mabel (and View) had gone. He had to get to her so they could both get out of there and away from this revolution!

“Fine! Take me to your leader!” he heard Ristica shout from behind him. “I’m sure that’ll be _fun!”_

Throughout the Coffee Shop District, there was panic and hooded pilots zooming about on hovercycles, seeming to delight in the chaos they were causing.

Something about the scenario was oddly familiar…

“Gotta’ find Mabel, gotta’ find Mabel…”

Dipper ran along, dodging other running people.

Suddenly three of the menacing figures were blocking the alleyway ahead of him.

_“Oh_ crap.”

“Eyyyyy! Lookieee!” one of them cackled.

Dipper spun awkwardly and began running in the opposite direction. The hoods were faster, though, and he could hear them gaining on him.

“Need a car! Need a…”

There was another odd sound approaching much faster than the hoods.

Said hoods suddenly screamed and Dipper vaguely connected the sound to…

“Hooves?”

He looked over his shoulder and barely had time to register that his new pursuer was shouting “KIIIINNNGGGGGS!” and riding on a very animate, red-eyed horse statue before he was hit with a blow that knocked him out cold

And then everything was black.

***

The former Northwest Manor looked as imposing as ever, if not moreso now that it was set against an ominous red sunset.

The twisting road leading up to it, Wendy thought, must have been built this way solely to impress and frighten potential visitors.

Knowing the Northwests, it probably had been.

Robbie walked close by her side while Grenda and Soos followed behind. They had also been joined by Melody, who had taken a keen interest in their mission to prove that Weirdmageddon had indeed occurred and that Candy Chiu existed.

Efforts to contact Candy had been unsuccessful, so they had gone ahead with Wendy’s plan to go and try to talk to Fiddleford McGucket.

“You’d think he’d maintain this road better,” Robbie said, stepping along the edge of a very large and surprisingly deep mud puddle.

It was one of many such puddles that the party had encountered during their short trek.

“Especially since he’s turning the place into a hotel soon, from what I’ve heard,” Wendy said. 

“A hotel?” Robbie asked.

“Yeah. Something about the mansion being too big for just him and Tate.”

“How did I miss that McGucket kicked out the Northwests?” Grenda asked.

They walked in silence a bit longer, huffing their way up the steep road.

“Wow, this really takes the wind out of you, doesn’t it?” Melody said, sounding utterly delighted.

“For real,” Grenda said. “I’m totally wiped out right now.”

“Totes so that the Northwests could tire out attacking armies,” Wendy deadpanned. “That’s what my Dad always says.”

“Your Dad also says the boulders by the Elder River were put there specifically so he could strength-train,” Robbie pointed out.

“Whoah! NOT TRUE!” Grenda said. “They were put there for _ME!”_

“Whatever,” Wendy said. “My Dad’s a nut-case, it’s true. But he’s also really great sometimes.”

“Well this looks just as uninviting as ever,” Soos interjected.

“Nobody had to ask what he was referring to. They had just arrived at the heavy wood-and-wrought-iron gates of the Northwest Manor.

People still called it that, much to Wendy’s frustration. Old habits died hard, but it still seemed unfair.

“The giant crane is new,” Robbie said, pointing to the large piece of machinery parked just outside the gates.

“Does it open?” Melody asked, attempting to grasp the gates and move them. “Nope, I guess not.”

“Huh,” Soos pointed at the old intercom set into the wall beside the gate. “I wonder if this thing still works.”

“Worth a try,” Wendy said.

Soos pressed a small, faded green button. It lit up but there was no sound to indicate whether it could be heard inside the mansion and, if it could, whether it would be noticed.

“Huh,” Wendy tapped her foot in the mud. 

“Anybody up for a game of Never Have I Ever while we wait?” Soos asked cheerfully.

“No!” everyone chorused.

“I’ll go first. Never Have I Ever been attacked by a video game character. Oh, wait, yes I have. That doesn’t work then…”

“Yeah,” Robbie said. “I was about to say…”

“I thought you had that memory erased?” Wendy said with a frown.

“It’s a surprisingly common problem,” Soos said. 

“What is?” Melody asked. “Being attacked by a video game character or having your memory erased?”

“Both, apparently!” Grenda said.

“I meant the video game thing,” Soos said. “Okay, show of hands. Who here has been attacked by a video game character?”

He raised his hand. Melody and Robbie did the same.

“That’s…” Soos said. “Three. Three out of five. Over one half of us. Could it be that over half of the entire world population will be attacked by a video game character in their lifetime?”

“Soos Ramirez,” Wendy muttered. “The human clickbait.”

Melody giggled.

_“Um...hello there?”_

A new voice joined the conversation, causing everyone to jump and turn to look at the intercom.

_“Hello? Visitors?”_

The voice sounded a bit hesitant and also was decidedly not Fiddleford or Tate McGucket.

Wendy moved towards the intercom, but Grenda beat her to it, stepping right up to the speaker and talking loudly into it.

“WE’RE HERE TO SPEAK TO THE MAD SCIENTIST! WHO ARE YOU AND WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH HIM?”

_“I...haven’t done anything with him. He’s around somewhere. As to who I am, that’s the million dollar question. Plato and Socrates apparently spent a lot of time thinking about that, too.”_

“LOOK, IF YOU THINK PLATE AND SANTA-CLAUSE SPENT THAT MUCH TIME THINKING ABOUT YOU IN PARTICULAR, YOU HAVE A WAY-TO-BIG EGO.”

For some reason, this caused the speaker to burst out laughing.

_“I would...really like to have a conversation about traditional philosophy with you. Throw some Don Marquis in there too to shake things up a bit, would never hurt. But in all honesty, I assure you that I’m no one of great cosmic importance. I’m just me and still working on who exactly me is.”_

“Oh great voice of no cosmic importance,” Soos said, stepping up to the intercom. “We are merely humble townsfolk here to seek an audience with Professor McGucket regarding a matter of discretion.”

_“Wow,”_ the speaker said. _“Your voice is a lot clearer.”_

“Can you let us in?” Wendy asked.

_“Your voice is clearer, too. Technically I can let you in if I get the okay from Fiddleford. Alternatively, since we’re on the topic of philosophy, I could tell you riddles and let you in if you answer them correctly?”_

“But if they’re philosophical riddles,” Melody said. “Wouldn’t that mean there _is_ no correct answer?”

_“Damn.”_

_“Hey Shi!”_ a second voice cried over the intercom, growing quickly louder as if its owner was hurriedly approaching the microphone. _“What tha hell’re ya doin’?”_

_“I have no earthly clue,”_ the first voice admitted. _“It seems you have visitors.”_

_“Holy honk!”_ the second voice cried, now definitely recognizable as belonging to McGucket. _“Them’s my compatriots an’ fellow comrades in arms!”_

_“Comrades in arms?”_

_“Let ‘em in! Open up them gates!”_

“Yes, _sir!”_

The gates made a creaking noise as they swung open, allowing the little party to step inside.

“Well this is an improvement,” Wendy noted.

The courtyard was no longer immaculately maintained but had not been left to utter disrepair either. There were more security cameras than there had been when the mansion was still occupied by the Northwests, there were numerous scorch-marks on the lawn and Wendy was pretty certain the goldfish in the pond were mechanical.

The doors of the mansion burst open and a winded-looking Fiddleford nearly exploded through them.

“Evenin’ friends!” he cried, throwing his arms wide as if to hug them, but then deciding against it. “Welcome! Come in, come in!”

“Hey professor,” Robbie said. “Don’t mind if I do. This place is kinda’ epic.”

“How’s it going, F-dog,” Soos asked.

“Goin’ well, now you mention it,” Fiddleford said. “And I’ve been meanin’ to contact you! I done found some obscure animes I bets you haven’ seen.”

“You sir,” said Soos. “Are a scientist worthy of great respect.”

“McGucket, you look good,” Wendy said. “I mean, not that you didn’t rock the deranged hobo hillbilly look better than anyone I know...but...this suits you.”

“Thankye! I’va’ bin tryin’ ter take better care of meself the last few years.”

“It shows,” Melody said.

Fiddleford still sported overalls and a beard, but he was now wearing a plaid jacket, a lab coat, and looked like he’d been showering regularly.

“Dude,” Wendy said, looking around. “This place looks so much better without the pretentious snobbery. You can really appreciate he woodworking for the masterpiece it is.”

“Can I get ya anythin’?” Fiddleford asked, closing the door behind them. “Coffee? Whiskey? Moonshine? Cornbread?”

“The cornbread is pretty fantastic,” another voice chimed in from the stairs.

Wendy looked to see Tate approaching, looking better than she’d ever seen him as well.

“You’ve met my son, right?” Fiddleford said.

“Yeah, of course,” Wendy said. “We miss him running the bait shop.”

“This is a better gig. The hotel is going to be really nice too, almost ready to open,” Tate snapped his fingers. “Oh, right, cornbread. You all want cornbread, right? I’ll go get it.”

“You don’ hafta’...” Fiddleford began.

But Tate was already striding off in the direction of what Wendy assumed was the kitchen.

“How did he know I wanted cornbread, though?” Soos wondered.

“Who doesn’t want cornbread?” Wendy asked, still gawking at the interior architecture towering several stories above her. “I mean this,” she gestured at the railings of several floors surrounding the lobby area. “This is the epitome of a relax-and-eat-cornbread environment.”

“Well, where should we go?” Fiddleford asked. “I’m not used to entertainin’ guests but I oughta’ get some practice in ‘fore the hotel’s open fer business. There’s the dinin’ hall…” 

He pointed to a series of rather dusty-looking tables beneath ornate chandeliers hanging from lodgepole beams.

“That’s not a dining room, that’s a restaurant,” Melody said.

“A fancy-ass restaurant,” Robbie added.

“Up,” Wendy said.

Everyone looked at her curiously, so she pointed at the log railings of the upper floors.

“Can we go up there?”

“O’ course!” McGucket cried. “There’s some nice seatin’ up there, don’ ever get used much.”

“Well that actually sounds perfect,” Melody said.

“I’m workin’ on buildin’ a giant clock fer the chim-ley,” McGucket said, leading the way. “I heard about one likes that in Wyoming an’ I thought to myself ‘tha’s mighty ingenious. I gotter build a bigger one.’”

“Just like all the steampunk science dudes,” Robbie said quietly. “You always have to have a bigger clock than the other guy.”

_“Robbie!”_ Wendy hissed while, behind them, Grenda roared with laughter that shook the entire mansion.

Fortunately, Fiddleford didn’t seem to have heard Robbie, but he gave Grenda a distressed look until she stopped laughing.

She punched Robbie in the back.

“I retract my previous assessment, Valentino. You’re hilarious.”

“I...uh, thanks?” Robbie said nervously.

They’d reached the third floor by this point.

“This here’s a nice spot,” Fiddleford said. “Needs ter get used more often. Lots o’ seats an’ a deck fer when weather’s nice.”

“This place has an entire lounge and bar?” Melody said. “Your hotel is going to be a _hit!_ We should talk about incorporating a sandwich meat stand. People will flock here!”

“Ah yes, well,” Fiddleford said. “I’m a bit worried they won’ appreciate me buildin’ robots and thingy-majiggers while they’s tryin’ to vacation. An’ I ain’t a very charis-i-matic host.”

The group began to settle on the seats overlooking the ballroom-esque lobby below.

“This is absolutely beautiful,” Melody said. “I could absolutely just sit here all day and write stories and daydream.”

“Now I don’ know ‘bout that,” Fiddleford said. “But this place’s better’n’a junkyard or a garage. Or,” he added as an afterthought. “An underground laboratory.”

“Can we cut to the chase?” Grenda asked. “Namely, me?”

“You feeling left out?” Wendy teased. 

“Hardly. I just think this big production has gotten extra big.”

“Right,” Soos said. “We have a mystery to solve and we need your help.”

“A mystery?” Fiddleford sounded dubious.

“I gotta’ ask you something,” Wendy said. “And this might sound like the dumbest question of the century but... _ugh!_ I can’t think of a way to ask without sounding offensive.”

“Do you,” Robbie interjected. “Uh, _not_ remember the events of Weirdmageddon?”

“Oi, Robbie!” Wendy said. “Offensive?”

_“Sorry.”_

“Gren-dog doesn’t remember our apocalypse,” Soos said quickly. “And, like, a lot of people in town don’t either? And she doesn’t remember Candy? And we think, like, you might could help us?”

“Memory loss!” Fiddleford cried excitedly. “Ye’ve definitely come ter the righ’ place, then! Tha’s act-chully r’lated ter the research me an’ Shi are doin’!”

“But you remember Weirdmageddon?” Robbie pressed.

“‘Course I remember that abomination o’ science an’ reality. And believe me, I’d _like_ ter forget _that!_ But I done learnt my lesson on that one!”

“So Grenda’s memory loss isn’t something _you_ know about?”

Fiddleford took off his spectacles and started polishing them nervously.

“Not _specific-ly,"_ he said. “I know entirely too much ‘bout memory loss but I ain’t been _doin’_ anythin’ ter cause it these days. But...yer...yer not the first to report people fergettin’ things in Gravity Falls.”

“We’re not?” Soos asked, suddenly expectant.

“I got one o’ them what-cha-callit, _i-_ mails last week talkin’ ‘bout it.”

“Do you know who it was from?”

“‘Course I know. But I ain’t none too thrilled wi’ the prospect o’ talkin’ to her.”

“WHO?” Soos pressed, fascinated.

“Oh,” Wendy said suddenly. _“Oh.”_

“What?” Robbie asked, looking back and forth between Wendy and Fiddleford in complete confusion.

“I don’ spent much time in town fer obvious reasons,” Fiddleford said, skirting the topic. “But I’d be curious to do a few experiments on Grenda here.”

He turned to face her.

“With your full permission, o’ course.”

“Permission GIVEN!” Grenda nearly shouted, spreading her arms wide. “Turn me into a CYBORG!”

“Tha’s not ‘zactly what I had in mind.”

“It never is,” said Wendy.

“So let’s do it!” Melody said enthusiastically, pounding her palm with a fist.

“ONWARD!” Grenda cried.

“Who is onwarding without me?” a voice cried from the stairs. “You haven’t even eaten yet.”

Tate appeared, taking the stairs two at a time with a chittering raccoon at his heels, carrying a plate of cornbread.

“The cornbread!” Fiddleford said. “I done plumb forgot!”

Robbie shot an amused look at Wendy, who shook her head and frowned at him.

“Well _Grommit_ didn’t forget,” Tate said, looking down at the raccoon, who was eyeing the plate in his hand with great interest. “I found her picking the third lock on the cabinet, trying to get to it.”

The raccoon reached out imploringly at Tate, whose face burst into a huge smile.

“Oh if you insist, Grommie.”

He took one of the cornbread muffins from the plate and handed it to Grommit, who grabbed it greedily and made off to the mini-bar in the corner of the room. She began eating it, a cascade of crumbs raining all over the Northwest countertops.

Wendy gave her a thumbs-up.

“Oh dude,” Soos said. “I forgot you were married to a raccoon.”

“The _hell_ could you forget something like _that?”_ Robbie asked.

“He could do way worse,” Tate said, sinking onto the couch and setting the plate of corn muffins on the table. “She’s no dummy.”

“Well now she’s learnt what a pushover ya are,” Fiddleford said, looking at the minibar disapprovingly.

“I pick my battles,” Tate said. “And engaging in a lengthy power struggle with a raccoon who isn’t _my_ wife over cooked cornmeal and yoghurt is not worth it.”

Fiddleford seemed to consider this.

“Tha’s a fair point, ah reckon.”

Grenda ignored the corn muffins to everyone’s surprise. But, to be fair, she did look a bit queasy.

“So this experiment you mentioned,” Wendy said. “What exactly does it involve?”

“Well,” Fiddleford said. “My thinkin’ was if I could create t’ opposite o’ my mem’ry erasin’ gun, I could reverse-i-fy amnesia an’ retrieve the subconscious. I gots a device I’m workin’ on perfection’ an’ miss Grenda here’d be the perfect test subject.”

“So you’ve never tested it?” Melody asked.

“Something tells me that’s a bad sign,” Soos said. “But I’m just going to ignore that.”

“And that’s why you have me,” Melody muttered.

“We’ve tested it,” Fiddleford said. “Jus’ not successfully. I ain’t emotionally stable ‘nuff t’be a test subject. Had a damn near panic attack when I tried it.”

“Yeah, your subconscious should stay subconscious,” Tate agreed.

Grommet made a loud trill of agreement from the minibar.

“I refuse to be experimented on,” Tate said. “And Shiloh is an even worse test subject than Dad. Seems they don’t have a subconscious.”

“Or maybes the tech don’t act-chally work proper,” Fiddleford suggested.

“Still wanna’ volunteer for this?” Wendy asked Grenda. “As freaked out as I am about your whole memory loss thing, I’m having _serious_ second thoughts right now.”

“I have NO second thoughts!” Grenda said decisively. “I want to be a guinea pig!”

“Grenda…”

“Guinea PIG! Guinea PIG!” Grenda began pumping her fist in the air. “GUINEA PIG! GUINEA PIG!”

“Well!” Fiddleford leaped to his feet. “That answers that! Let’s git experimentin’!”

“Here we go,” Wendy muttered, getting up and following Grenda, who was making a beeline after Fiddleford down an adjacent hallway.

“This is the dumbest game of follow-the-leader ever,” she heard Robbie saying from behind her.

Grommit, Soos and Melody followed along too, but Tate stayed behind to clean up the cornbread crumbs.

The hall passed by a number of curiously locked doors that might or might not have been guest rooms for the hotel, before Fiddleford lead them through a larger door and out onto a catwalk looking down into an area nearly as large as the lobby.

It was obvious that he had knocked out a huge section of the house in order to make room for his lab and for the equipment he was building in it.

Wendy stepped out onto the metal catwalk, looking around with an awed expression.

“Dude,” Robbie said. “What the fuck?”

“This here’s my buildin’ and tinkerin’ lab!” Fiddleford said proudly.

The centerpiece of the room was a large glass-walled cube that was approximately the size of a two-story house. At its base was a figure with brightly-colored dreadlocks, who appeared to be taking a break from welding to light a joint with their propane torch.

“HEY SHI!” Fiddleford yelled. “I DONE TOLD YA TER CUT THAT OUT!” 

The figure simply turned off the torch and stood up, waving cheerfully. 

“Ye’ve already met my colleague, Shiloh,” Fiddleford told his guests. “Think they was sent up from West Coast Tech fer a project, act-chally don’ rightly know…”

“No, you got it right,” Shiloh said. “You giving a tour or something?”

“The person behind the voice at the gate!” Soos said in a hushed tone as he recognized Shiloh’s voice. “We meet at last!”

Shiloh’s face burst into a huge smile. “Great to meet you in the physical world as well...uh…?”

“Jesus Ramirez,” Soos said. “But you can just call me Soos.”

Shiloh saluted. “Soos it is!”

“Young Grenda here seems ter have some mem-ries that’re incongruent wit’ reality ‘s we know it!” Fiddleford said. 

“Oooh? Experiment subject?”

“Ya got it darn-tiggity right! Time to put that ‘quipment ter use on someone it migh’ act-chally work on!”

Wendy pointed at the giant glass cube in the center of the room. “Okay, what is that thing?”

“Nuthin’ ter do with what we’re doin’ ter Grenda.”

“Yeah, but what _is_ it?”

“Well that there’s my contain-y-ment box fer my Annihilation Machine!”

“Uh, question?” Soos said, raising a hand. “Should we be worried about the Annihilation Machine?”

“Very,” Shiloh said.

“Not at all!” Fiddleford disagreed. “The box’s complete impenetrable an I ain’t managed to annihilate anythin’ yet.”

_“Why?”_ Melody asked. “Why do you even need something like that?”

“Well good ol’ Stanford told me ‘at my parallel self done gone and came up with the key element fer powerin’ his quantum destabilizy-ray an’ so help me, I got my heart set’ on recreatin’ that technology on a bigger an’ better level in this dimension.”

“WHY?” everybody chorused.

“Because we gotta’ be prepared,” Fiddleford said. “Half tha’ town mighta’ forgotten or choosed to ignore the end o’ tha’ world, but I sure ‘aven’t. We ain’t gonna’ be left defenseless come the future.”

“But we _won,”_ Robbie protested. “Bill’s dead.”

“You think Bill’s the only dangerous thing out there?” Fiddleford asked, his eyes crossing. “Ya fergit, I done _seen_ hell. I _been_ there! An’ tha’ wicked triangle migh’ be gone, but there’s a whole dimension o’ evil righ’ next door. So pardon me if I’m excessively paranoid.”

Melody grimaced, Wendy and Robbie exchanged an embarrassed look, Shiloh looked extremely uncomfortable and Soos just looked confused.

“Can we stop being awkward and get back to WORK?” Grenda asked, her voice echoing through the large space.

“Sounds like a righ’ great idea, young lady!” Fiddleford said, grateful to be distracted. “Follow me this way!”

He walked down a narrow flight of metal steps leading to the floor of the workshop.

Soos laughed nervously, noting that there was no railing to hold onto.

“Good thing you haven’t had a visit from OSHA.”

“Dude,” Wendy told him. “You run at the Mystery Shack. The place violates, like, every regulation.”

“Wendy, I have to keep up the legacy.”

Wendy rolled her eyes, stepping off the stairs and onto the floor of the lab. She frowned, now finding herself directly in front of the airlock-like chamber leading to the massive cube that was the Annihilation Machine.

Fiddleford didn’t walk towards the cube, however.

Instead he led Grenda away from it, to a messy work bench that ran across the far wall. All around, there were odd-looking bits of motors and machines.

One section of the work bench was illuminated by extra-bright fluorescent lights that hung down on long chains all the way from the ceiling. Wendy could tell it was the section that had gotten the most recent use.

“Sit yerself down righ’ here, if ya don’ mind,” Fiddleford said to Grenda, gesturing towards a tall wooden chair.

Grenda settled herself onto it with no hesitation, but a strange amount of apparent difficulty.

Fiddleford taped two metal wires to her temples, and Wendy could see they ran to what looked like a small transistor radio on the work bench, which was in turn connected to a laptop and three keyboards.

“Okie-dokie, fellas, let’s git this here show on tha’ road!”

Everyone except Shiloh crowded close in excitement and curiosity. 

Fiddleford flipped a switch and the transistor crackled loudly, whining like it were in between stations. He gave it a firm slap.

“Behave, ya’ doohicky!”

With his other hand, he typed something into one of the keyboards and the computer screen winked to life. 

Various lines, squiggles, and numbers filled the screen. They meant nothing to Wendy but Fiddleford seemed visibly annoyed by them.

“Wha’ in tarnation?”

He began adjusting the radio knobs, creating more whistles and static.

“Man, I feel your pain,” Robbie said. “It’s just like, you know, when your favorite song is on the radio and you can’t tune it in right.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s _not_ how it is,” Wendy muttered.

“No,” Shiloh said from right behind, making them both jump. “I think he has a point. It _is_ kind of like that.”

They pushed between Robbie and Wendy and walked over to Fiddleford and Grenda.

“I’m thinking REALLY hard,” Grenda said. “But I can think even HARDER if I need to.”

She didn’t look like she felt good, Wendy observed. Grenda looked peaked and a bit green if the truth be told. Was the machine doing that? Should she intervene? Hadn’t Grenda been feeling sick to begin with, though?

“It’s not how hard ya’ think,” Fiddleford told Grenda. “‘T’s the ding-dang machine fritzin’.”

He hit it with his hand again.

“Come on, ya’ dumb radio.”

“Fiddleford,” Shiloh said quietly. “A word?”

Fiddleford looked at them curiously but seemed inclined to follow as they walked alongside the work bench, away from Grenda. 

“Soos, ya wanna’ watch this here screen fer half a minute,” he said. “Let me know’f those waveforms or numbers change.”

Soos put his face unnecessarily close to the screen.

“I will watch it like a hawk.”

Fiddleford hurried over to Shiloh, who was standing just out of earshot of the others.

“Something’s very wrong,” they whispered.

“I can tell _that!_ This readin’ machine ain’t ever acted up like that before.” 

“The machine is functioning perfectly.”

“What?”

“Fiddleford, have you noticed Grenda’s feet?”

“Shi, I ain’t interested in judgin’ people by their footwears, ya know. Half times I don’ even wear shoes on accounts’ the constrictin’.”

“I don’t mean the _shoes…”_

“Tha sheer ‘mount a’ times I been judged fer my lack o’ fashion sense…”

“Fiddleford, look at her feet.”

The two turned around to look at Grenda, who was sitting on the tall stool next to Soos, whose nose was practically touching the laptop screen. She looked even more pale and feverish than before, arms crossed, legs dangling down and…

_“What?”_ Fiddleford blinked hard a number of times.

Grenda’s feet should have been hanging just off the ground, or propped on one of the legs of the stool.

Instead, however, they were non-existent. Her legs just appeared to fade into nothing just above the ankles.

Seeing the direction of their gaze, Grenda looked down at her feet in confusion, and then back up at Fiddleford and Shiloh.

They locked eyes for a moment and then were instantly hit with a wave of nausea so intense that Fiddleford thought for a moment that he was going to black out as he fell to the floor.

“Not this shit,” he heard Wendy say faintly.

From the sound of things, everyone else had collapsed as well.

As swiftly as the feeling had hit, it was gone, leaving Fiddleford shaking.

“Wha’ in…?”

“Are you okay?” Shiloh asked.

Fiddleford sat up and nearly fell over before grabbing the legs of the work bench for support. 

“What _was_ that?” Shiloh seemed to be addressing themself. “I’ve never felt anything like that. And I think I’d be okay never doing that again.”

The transistor on the bench was now functioning normally, emitting a steady and not-unpleasant buzz, no longer sounding like it was tuned in-between stations.

“Grenda?” Melody asked. “Where’s Grenda?”

“GRENDA?” Wendy called loudly.

“She’s _gone!”_ Robbie exclaimed, pointing to the empty stool where Grenda had been sitting.

The wires with tape of them were lying on the floor and Grenda was nowhere to be seen.

“Guys,” Soos said, practically lying on the work bench with his face smashed up against the computer screen. “What’s going on? The readings changed. Can I stop looking at this.”

“YES, SOOS!” everyone cried.

Soos slid off the bench and stood up.

“Oh boy, that’s a relief. I was getting dizzy looking at those numbers.”

Without warning, Wendy leaped at Fiddleford, picking him up by the front of his lab coat.

“WHAT DID YOU DO WITH GRENDA?” she shouted in his face. “WHAT DID YOUR MACHINE DO? WAS THIS SOMETHING TO DO WITH THAT ANNIHILATION MACHINE YOU WERE TALKING ABOUT?!?”

She shook him hard.

“BRING HER BACK! DO YOU HEAR ME? BRING HER BACK RIGHT NOW!”

“WENDY, STOP!” Robbie yelled.

“I din’ _do_ anythin’!” Fiddleford protested, as Wendy seemed hellbent on literally shaking the answers out of him. “The Annihilation Machine ain’t even pow’red on!”

“Put him down!” Shiloh said, gripping Wendy’s arm at the elbow. “The Annihilation Machine didn’t take Grenda and neither did the one she was hooked up to.”

“Then what _did?”_ Wendy asked dangerously, not moving.

“I...I don’t know. But she was fading before the machine was even hooked up. Her feet were already gone when you arrived.”

“Then why didn’ ya say that ‘mmediately?” Fiddleford said, glancing away from Wendy’s furious face to look at Shiloh. “‘Stead o’ waitin’?”

“Isn’t it obvious? I didn’t want anyone to panic. You know what happens when people panic? This.”

They gestured at the scene surrounding them.

Wendy took a deep breath and set Fiddleford down. His legs collapsed under him.

“Wendy what did you do?” Melody cried. “He already has anxiety issues to begin with.”

“Nope!” Shiloh pointed at her. “Shut up. No more conflict. You’re all exactly right but if you’re going to just fight about it, I’m gonna’ have to ask you to leave on behalf of common sense and logic.”

“This is Gravity Falls,” Robbie muttered. “Common sense and logic need not apply.”

Shiloh pointed at him now. 

“Well for the next twenty minutes, within a hundred-yard radius of where I’m standing, they do.”

Robbie raised his eyebrows.

“Message received.”

“Thank you,” Shiloh said.

Fiddleford climbed to his feet, eyeing Wendy warily.

“There ain’t no way this machine could make anyone disappear. It only takes measurements. Likes a rain gauge.”

“And rain gauges don’t cause disappearances,” Soos pointed out.

“‘Zactly.”

“What about that thing?” Wendy looked towards the enormous glass cube in the center of the facility.”

“Naw, I done told you! The Annihilation Machine ain’t even plugged in! I’m still missin’ key ‘gredients ter even make it r’motely func-chy-nal.”

“So we don’t know what happened?” Melody asked.

“Nope,” Fiddleford said sadly. “Bu’ whatever it was done started with mem’ry loss an’ then progressed to...entire existence loss, I guess.”

Wendy looked horrified. 

“Must’ve happened to Candy first,” Soos said.

“No, that’s not right,” Robbie said. “Because we still remember Grenda. And Candy.”

“Because it hasn’t hit us yet, Robbie,” Wendy said.

“How do we _know_ it hasn’t?” Soos asked. “Oh dudes, what if we’ve already forgotten stuff and we don’t remember because we forgot?”

“Oh my god,” said Melody, eyes growing wide.

“Hey,” Shiloh said. “Remember what I said about not panicking?”

“Oh, right,” Soos said. “Logic and reason and all that.”

“We don’t know that anyone has actually ceased to exist here,” Shiloh continued. “They might just be...in a different place. There’s a lot of variables here that we need to look into.”

“So we ‘vestigate!” Fiddleford said, his excitement slowly starting to return. 

“But right now it’s late, nobody except me is thinking clearly. All of you need to go home, go to bed and rest up. We’ll work on this in the morning. Just...if you start to feel sick like that again, run.’

The group exchanged distressed looks.

“She has a point,” Melody conceded. 

“I don’t like this,” Wendy said. “Not one bit.”

“Neither do I,” Robbie said, putting a hand on her shoulder. “But we do need to rest our brains before they, like, blow up or something.”

Soos nodded.

“We’ll reconvene soon,” Melody said. 

Wendy sighed. 

“Okay, this has just been stupid. The stoner techie is right. Let’s just go home.”

With the murmur of low conversation, Wendy, Robbie, Melody and Soos ascended the non-OSHA-approved stairs, the sound of their footsteps fading as they walked down the corridor above.

Grommit, who had been hiding behind a stack of batteries on the work bench, emerged, turned to Shiloh and screeched loudly.

“Is that normal for a raccoon?” Shiloh asked.

“Wha’ tha _hell_ , Shi?” Fiddleford said, rounding on his assistant. “Are ya high?”

“Yeah,” Shiloh shrugged. “But that’s not…”

“You _lied_ to ‘em, didn’ ya? You’da’ git along good wit’ tha feds with all yer dishonesty fer the sake o’ keepin’ the peace! Ya’ do so to know what ‘appened!”

“Panic helps nothing,” Shiloh said, ignoring Grommit’s growling. “And I told the truth. I don’t _know_ what just happened.”

“Oh, I’ma’ thinkin’ ya do.”“I _don’t!”_ Shiloh protested. “But...I have a pretty good idea.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter eight will post sometime in late September, and regular bi-weekly chapters will resume thereafter. I will post updates and chapter schedules on riftlash.tumblr  
> Cheers!  
> A

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter 1 posts today, Chapter 2 will post on 6/18. After that I plan to settle into a bi-weekly posting schedule.


End file.
